


Resume

by toturnagain



Category: Atonement (2007), atonement
Genre: F/M, Family, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-09-11
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-24 08:54:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/261467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toturnagain/pseuds/toturnagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Briony Tallis's most famous novel was an attempt to atone for what she did to her sister, Cecilia, and Cecilia's lover, Robbie. It took her nearly sixty years and three revisions to write. </p><p>What happened to Cee, Robbie, and Briony in between those years turned out quite a bit differently than what Briony wrote.  Cee and Robbie begin their lives. Briony becomes a novelist. Life resumes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dunkirk

The premise: The novel and film Atonement prove, in many ways, that small actions can result in large consequences. By and large, the consequences in the book are dire and negatively impact the characters. We are left with a sucker punch of a tale, and if you're me, causes one to wander around for a week despairing at the fates of Robbie and Cecilia.

I couldn't live with that, not without pulling a Briony of my own and trying out a outcome. So I did. This story takes one small twist that could have changed the entire outcome of not just the two lovers, but many of the lives they touch.

Another thing: my premise also includes that the novel Briony writes – where Cecilia and Robbie die tragically – remains the same. That is still the way she chooses to interpret the events. Remember Cecilia's assessment –she's quite fanciful, even still.

We already know her to be an unreliable narrator. Part III in the book is riddled with hints that she takes liberties with the truth: she makes Cecilia a ward sister*, she makes Robbie a corporal when she knew full well he was not eligible, she mentions seeing Aunt Hermione at Lola's wedding but telling her sister that she now lives in Nice, France on the very same day. (Nice is very close to Italy, Axis territory, plus this would have had Aunt Hermione traveling by boat (and possibly by land) in the same waters that Robbie and the soldiers were being shot at by Germans during the retreat. )

Now, without further adieu, let us resume.

* - Note in Cecilia's last letter to Robbie before the retreat. She is still working in the maternity ward **, not** at the EMS near Morden. She mentions the ward sister enforcing visiting hours when a husband visited his wife – SHE was not, at least at this point, a ward sister herself.

* * *

RESUME

CHAPTER ONE

“Your left, guv’nor. It’s your left side that’s limping.”

Private Robbie Turner’s side was aching with each uneven step as he was mock-dragged between Mace and Nettle to avoid being pulled over by a higher up. The wound in his side was acting strange – or perhaps he was acting strange. He felt queer suddenly, a feeling apart from the hunger and thirst and exhaustion that was settling in.

The two corporals stopped abruptly. “Fuck me,” Mace said quietly once they were out of sight of the lieutenant among the chaos of the beach.  “He’s actually hurt.”

“It’s just…” Robbie gasped, catching his breath. “Just a nick in my side, that’s all.”

“Just a nick if my side,” Nettle taunted. “Come on, Turner. You’re not getting home to crumpet if a piece of metal gets you first.”

“You should have spoke up,” Mace chided. “All that wine back at the barn a few nights ago. Could have used it as an antiseptic.”

The private groaned in pain and futility. Of course it seemed so obvious now, but he hadn’t wanted to appear weak in front of his company.

Robbie collected himself and looked up, weighing the reality of what Nettle said. “No wounded. That’s what the captain said, the Navy chap. I can’t be wounded.”

Nettle rolled his eyes while Mace gave a hoot. “You’ve got two legs and two arms but you’re only using half your brain. You look whole, and we’ll get you on those boats. Look, there’s a medic down there. Let’s see what he has to say.”

“No.” Robbie said it as firmly as his vocal chords could allow. They were constricting as a lump grew, precluding tears. “No, they’ll mark me wounded and leave me…”

“No, no,” Nettle said soothingly. “The medic chaps, they’re all right. No fucking Navy captain’ll know. Mace and me,” --he caught Mace’s eye over Robbie’s head—“We’ll get you back.”

 

* * *

 

The doctor on hand – a firm but compassionate man – had seen a lot over the past few days and was reticent to stop seeing patients despite a severe lack of a supplies. He couldn’t suppress a gentle _tut tut_ at the pussing wound the private showed.

“That’s getting to be badly infected,” he commented as he washed the area with whiskey. (“The only alcohol I could find.”) “Sepsis or tetanus, and hopefully not both.” He motioned to Mace and Nettle. “You, grab his feet. You his arms.” To Robbie he braced simply, “This will hurt. Here, bite down on this.” He put a damp rag between Robbie’s teeth. “And I’ll pull on three. One, two…”

The sock muffled the  private’s screams as the doctor expertly pulled out a small sliver of shrapnel from the wounded man’s torso. He inspected it briefly. “I’ve seen bigger. But the real problem is in the oil and what else comes with it. Tiny, microscopic organisms get into your bloodstream or worse. Here, we’ll get you set up with a drip and a transfusion -- you’re damn lucky, I’ve got just the two left.” He cocked his head to the tent entrance. “You can wait for him out there if you’d like. I won’t be needing your assistance now.”

“I’m off,” Mace announced the second they were out again. Nettle grabbed him by the lapel and twisted him by the ear. “Fuck!” he yelled. “What the hell do we owe him?”

Nettle lit a cigarette and offered it to Mace, who turned back around and leaned up against a truck that hadn’t yet been set aflame. “Guv’nor walks us across the countryside, keepin’ off the main roads, making sure we don’t get our heads blown off by the Luftwaffe. You an’ me – would’ve been blown to bits out there in the open. Somehow we get put with a toff-who’s-not-a-toff who can walk us through every nook and cranny, avoidin’ Jerries and Frogs better’n the rest.”

Mace grunted in reply.

“Besides,” Nettle said softly. “I don’t want to be the one to break the news to the crumpet.”

“Oh, come off it. Not really your duty, that.”

Nettle looked over at Mace in disgust. “You’d watch him die and not let someone back home know? He carries those damn letters with him everywhere. If it were me own girl – “

“If you had a girl,” Mace corrected, passing the cigarette back to him.

“Nevertheless, if it were me, I’d want to know someone did the right thing.” He nodded to himself. “So we fix him up now and no one’s the wiser.”

Mace scoffed. “If I get left behind because of some private, you’re a dead man.”

Nettle inhaled the last of the cigarette. “Then let’s hope he pulls through.”

 

* * *

Robbie felt better and worse after the medical attention. Fear of being left behind, marked as a sick man, filled him with dread. They found a place to sit and Mace went to find someone to pass for food.

“Here’s what we do,” Nettle conspired. “If you feelin’ lightheaded tomorrow, try to hide it til we get on the boats. The boys were saying we might have to stand in the water a bit. Try to lay low til then, save your strength.”

Robbie nodded. He was lying down, his right hand holding his now-bandaged wound and the other his packet of letters. The doctor had warned he’d need further treatment as soon as they hit dry land (“You’re on the verge of a bad septic attack, I’m afraid.”) but that the extra blood and saline, plus a large dose of sulfanilamide, ought to keep him relatively stable until then.

“Once we’re on the boat, it don’t matter. Sway if you need to, you can even turn grey again. All we do then is call it seasickness, and we wait until Dover.” Nettle stood over Robbie and looked him in the eye. “And in two days, probably less, you can stop looking at that damn postcard and look at a real girl again.”

The wait on the beach was agonizing. The weather was fair but the sun offered Robbie no comfort. He was lost in his hazy thoughts, half aware at his raw side and increasing disconnection at the chaos around him. Slowly the day sank into night and he heard Nettle next to him announce, “Just a few more hours, guv. Then we’ll be on our way.” He hadn’t heard Mace in awhile. Had he gone off and left him there? He didn’t want to burden either of them, though he’d been trying to justify their actions by recalling how much they’d depending on him back in the field, despite his lower rank. He was only half aware when Nettle pulled his great coat over him and that it was now very dark.

It must be almost be June, he thought. They had walked all the twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth.  Now it must be the twenty-seventh. He had been so determined before, so determined to get back, but now his heavy head made him realize that it’d just prolong the date on his tombstone. Would he even have a tombstone, marking the end of his days? May 27, 1940. It seemed so early, too soon. He had plans.

“May 27th, 1940.” He hadn’t meant to say it outloud.

 “That’s right.” Nettles voice was far above him now, though something wet and cool was poured down his throat. “The boats come today and we’re off, private. Off to England.” Robbie though of the boats he used to row when he taught in Lille. Would they hold everyone?

The next few hours passed in a blur. The sun came early, and to his utter disbelief there they were! Boats!  Of all sizes, mostly destroyers, hundreds of yards out in the water.

“Stick by me,” Nettle said in a low voice as they marched into the queue. “We’re not leavin’ you behind.”

They waded into the water until it was hip deep. It seemed that thousands of men had appeared from nowhere – from the dunes and the houses all around Dunkirk.

“They won’t fit,” he heard himself saying. “There’s not a chance.”

“Just you wait now.”

He was almost glad for his wound, for it made passing the time less of a worry and more of a state of mind. He thought about music and how he loved that one piece by Lizst. Would they be banning it? He remembered Grace saying that during the Great War they had banned German composers out of patriotism.

Oh Grace. He had completely forgotten about her. He wondered, if he didn’t make it, who would know first, Cee or his mother?

“Run, private. You’ve got to run right now.” Nettle was digging in his side and dragging him through the sea. Robbie’s legs felt like lead and he couldn’t fathom swimming that far or ever making it to the destroyer in front of him. “The _crumpet,_ guv’nor, think of the _crumpet._  She’ll never forgive you if you give out this close to home. Me either, that said.”

Suddenly his heart felt light and he broke into a run, nearly tripping over the debris in the water. Her face appeared before him, dark curls popping out of her nurses’ cap, pale face beckoning him. _Come back. Come back to me._ He passed a man’s body in the water, back to the sky and his pale arms spread out around him. That wasn’t him, and it wasn’t going to be him. _Come back, Robbie. I’ll wait for you._

He couldn’t keep her waiting. That thought alone got him to throw his legs over the edge of the gangplank at the ramp. He was vaguely aware of Nettle spotting him – such a good chap, how could he ever thank him?

“Christ, he looks a bit rough.” Someone was walking Robbie through the ship until they arrived at a room with bright lights. A kindly, round face peered into his and spoke reassuringly, but he couldn’t hear the words. Cool, clear water went down this throat, and the Robbie Turner felt nothing more.


	2. A conspiracy of nurses

_Friday, May 31 st, 1940_

The Emergency Medical Services hospital in Morden had been hastily constructed out of a former hotel, its walls and windows fortified in the event of a sudden attack.

The current battle, however, went on inside.

The nurses had worked their 12 hour shifts without reprieve and with very little break. There were no probationers at EMS as it was not a teaching hospital, and only the most skilled and intuitive nurses were offered senior staff positions there. Junior staff competed fiercely to get a spot at EMS, knowing the valuable information they would learn would put them leaps and bounds above the others taking qualifying exams.

Nurse MacAllister was nearing the end of her shift. She dreamed of a hot bath and stiff drink, but knew a quick sponge and a cup of cocoa would have to suffice. They were all temporarily living in probationer-style barracks upstairs, to maximize sleep and in case of further emergency.

She caught the eye of a friend of hers, Nurse Daniels, and they shared a knowing, grim smile. The day had not been easy; they had already lost many men.  Others were likely to go in the night for lack of constant nursing hands.  Even the higher-ups were feeling the strain.  Their ward sister had nearly extended each shift three hours to make up for the lack of hands, but the hospital matron, Sister Worthington, had reprimanded Sister Carruthers publically, saying that faulty hands created more problems than fewer hands did.  The twelve hour shift stayed, and although the high mortality rate lowered morale among the nursing staff, they couldn’t help but feel grateful that the formidable matron had not increased their hours.

Nurse MacAllister had become senior staff three years ago and had worked at EMS since its creation a few months past. There was nothing she hadn’t seen, though it bothered her that the military forces couldn’t be bothered to ensure certain injuries were sent to hospitals prepared to deal with them. St Thomas’s, for instance, specialized in direct patient care, considering their glut of probationers with few medical skills and eager hands.

Her rounds almost over, she stopped at the bed of a private whose color had left him. He had been hooked up to intravenous fluid, but no blood, and she paused to read his chart while taking his vitals. In the bed next to him, she noticed the glassy stare from the bed’s occupant and returned her own sorrowful version of another loss. The men in this row had infected wounds – tetanus, septicemia, severe blood loss – and for most of them the fight was as arbitrary as the wound.

The private’s blood pressure was not low enough to be considered shock, but low enough to account for his tepid temperature and clammy skin. _Severe sepsis,_  she read on the diagnosis, noting  that he had received treatment on the beach at Dunkirk, upon the ship, and at arrival in Dover. Lucky chap – it was likely the reason he lived still. He had been given sulfa, the only recourse they had against septic wounds, but this did not guarantee their prognosis would be reversed. If they had the hands to nurse him through the night for a few days, then maybe his and a few more lives might be spared, but Nurse MacAllister knew than to hold out such hope. She glanced at the name quickly before closing the chart to deal with the corpse next to him.

 She pulled the sheet over the dead man and called a junior staff nurse to transfer the body to a gurney so they could take it to the morgue. But she mulled on the familiarity of the name. _Turner._ Where had she heard that?

She glanced at the clock and noted she had two hours till her shift ended.  _Robert Turner._

Nurse MacAllister had a long list of things to do next, but her curiosity was getting the better of her.   She picked up the identity papers that had arrived just that morning and peaked through the man’s history. Several words popped out at her as she read. The man was a felon released from Wandsworth into the Army. He had a mother who lived in Surrey.  The gears in Nurse MacAllister’s head began to turn swiftly and she marched over to where her friend was bandaging a wound with a junior nurse.

“A word with you when you have a minute, Nurse Daniels.”

“Certainly.” Nurse Daniels gave the junior nurse she was working with a warm smile that encouraged her to continue on her own and rose to follow Nurse MacAllister.

“In the hallway, just for a moment.”

Once out of site of the rest of the staff, Nurse MacAllister did not waste a minute. “Who was that friend of yours you met at training in Liverpool, the one in love with the convicted man?”

“Cecilia Tallis. She works at the maternity home on Weir Road,” Nurse Daniels replied brightly, though her brow furrowed.  “Why do you ask?”

“What was the man’s name? Roger, wasn’t it? Rodney?”

“No,” she shook her head, the blond tendrils of her hair escaping their cape. “His name is Robbie. Robbie Turner. Really, Catherine, why do you…” Nurse Daniels caught Nurse MacAllister’s intense gaze and immediately connected why such information might be pertinent. “You’re joking.”

“No, I think he’s here. He’s got a bad infection.”

“Oh God. You’re sure it’s him?”

“Come and see.” The two women briskly strode back into the room and stopped before the bed where Private Turner sweated and slept.

Nurse Daniels glanced through the papers and nodded. “It’s him all right.” She cocked an introspective eyebrow towards the bed. “He’s not bad looking. I can see why she’d think him innocent.” She looked to her friend. “What do we do?”

Nurse MacAllister sighed wearily and crossed her arms, lifting her hand to her mouth to nervously chew on her fingernails.

“Nurse MacAllister, I hardly need to remind you of hygiene,” barked Sister Carruthers on her way past, her voice strained and peeved at having been reprimanded earlier in front of the staff.

The pair at Private Turner’s bed caught a few more eyes of the senior staff. “What’s this?” another asked, coming up behind them.

Nurse Daniels looked around her and quickly told the tale, her voice low. “This man – he’s the lover of a friend of mine, another nurse. She works down at the maternity home over in Balham.”

“Not the friend who left her family over him?”

“The same.”

“Oh dear, that’s horrible. But why are we standing here?”

“Because I can’t figure out what to do,” Nurse MacAllister said.

“If it were me, I’d want to know immediately.”

“Me too, “ chimed another voice who had overhead.

“Enough!” Nurse Daniels said, shushing them. “We’ll get the battle axe’s attention,” she said, nodding  to the sister.

“He’s not going to make it out of here,” Nurse MacAllister admitted. “What he needs is more blood – and there are others who need it more than him…”

“And constant hydration, if he’s receiving sulfa.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to do leg exercises too, to prevent clots and sores.”

A momentary pause, and then Nurse MacAllister spoke up. “Nurse Daniels, you should go get her.”

“Cecilia?!”

“Yes, why not?”

“She doesn’t work here.”

“She won’t be a nurse, silly.  She’s trained, so if his state changes, she’ll know and she’ll get one of us. We don’t have enough hands to get him through the night otherwise.”

They paused for a moment and thought it through. “They didn’t say a thing about _not_ having visiting hours.”

“Exactly! So she’ll be a visitor. It’s getting late and Sister will be off to bed soon anyway.  Cecilia can sit all night with him and no one will be the wiser.”

 “Oh, it’s like a romance serial in the papers!” one junior nurse squealed.

“Shh! Listen,” MacAllister continued, nodding to Nurse Daniels. “We’ll have to act fast before the shift change.  You’re on with me until nine o’clock, right?”

“Yes.”

“Go now and get her – Carruthers just went to check second floor, and that will take an hour.  It’s quiet around here now, and God-willing it will stay that way until you’re back.  I know Edith – I mean Nurse Adams – who’s on next shift. I can fill her in on what we’re scheming about.”

“What if they find out?”

Nurse Mac Allister bit her lip and thought. “I think we’ll deal with that when they figure it out.”

“I’ll cover your beds!” A junior nurse assured Nurse Daniels, who looked a little alarm to be breaking rank.

“Thank you! I’ll be quick. It’s only 15 minutes to Balham on the Tube.  I’ll be back within the hour.”

“You think she’ll come?”

“Who, Cecilia? I think it’s quite certain.”

* * *

If her life had been a fairy tale, it might go a little like this: in a squalid flat in Balham lived a twenty-eight year-old nurse.  In a previous life, she’d been something of an heiress and lived in a large house with too many rooms.   She  fancied herself an intellectual and those around her saw her as proud, acerbic, and perhaps a little cold. If you looked closely, though, you could see chinks in her armor. Around her family, particularly her siblings, she was warm and maternal. She longed for a happy family life, but with an absent father and a distant mother, this was not possible. Luckily, she fell in love and understood what she was really meant to do.  Her love was returned by a handsome friend she had known so long.  But just as quickly as they had announced their fealty, they were betrayed by the jealous little sister she’d spent so many years nurturing. They took him away and she left the strange family she’d been born into and shed the well-off life she knew.

It was not quite a fairy tale, but at least it was true. And truth was important to our twenty-eight year-old nurse.

Her lodgings were presently modest, but that was because Cecilia Tallis had plans for the future, plans that were expensive, and she tucked away most of her paycheck when she could. Living in Balham was made bearable by friends who often invited her out and the letters that had came in so regularly from an overeducated private stuck in northern France.  She kept the stack of them on a little shelf along with a few other mementos to remind her why she worked so hard.

There was the graduation photo of Robbie that had come just a few weeks after his arrest, and Grace had been too upset to display the photo of Robbie at his very best – the collegiate robes had been recently exchanged for prisoner’s garb, and the juxtaposition had been too much for poor Grace. So Cecilia had taken the photo and displayed in next to her bed that whole long summer of 1935, when there was still hope of winning his case. Its presence vexed Emily, who once charged into Cecilia’s room in an motherly attempt to lecture her about her life choices. Cecilia was prepared of a summer of this sort of thing, but when Emily started in how her support of Robbie was an embarrassment to her family, something inside her snapped.

The next day, the graduation photo was one of a few things that was packed when she left the house to move in with Grace at the bungalow.  She had taken so few things that Briony had come down with a full suitcase. She had called for her sister at the gate, her young face worried that Cecilia had not thought of the necessities. Neither Cecilia or Grace could face the girl and Briony had left the suitcase there.  Later Cecilia brought it inside and set it in the attic, never opening it.  Grace sold the contents some years later, and they were able to send Robbie a heavily-sanctioned Christmas present the second year he was in prison.

That was the last time Cecilia saw her sister.  Briony was shipped off to Roedean soon after, and her statements at Robbie’s trial were read without her present.  Things would be different, Cecilia thought, if the little liar had been made to witness at court.  Briony surely would have cracked under the pressure.

It was the photo of the cast of Othello, with Robbie in front hamming it up, that truly haunted her. It panged her to think she hadn’t seen even the play even though he’d invited her. That was back when she hadn’t understood why he could infuriate her so easily. The fury was misdirected – it wasn’t his place in life that prevented her from loving him, it had been her own. She had tried to explain to a friend why the cast photo was so motivating, but quickly realized it was an expression better left unsaid.

Then there were the books.  Just three had came with her this time. The others were boxed up at Grace’s.  A Shropshire Lad, a book of poetry that was Robbie’s favorite, sat as it always did. She had copied out the entirety to him in her letters while he was imprisoned.  A book of Yeats poetry sat next to it, because the melancholy suited her these days. And then there was his early edition of Pride and Prejudice, which she had read countless times as a sort of balm. Grace had even teased her about it. “Suppose Darcy and Lizzy don’t end up together this time you read it through?”

“That’s the wonderful thing,” Cecilia had retorted, tucking the book safely away. “They always do.”

 If only the same could be said of Robbie and Cee.

When Robbie was released from the Army, she was going to present her savings as a way to pay through medical school, or at least start. The thought of it normally gave her pleasure, but that overcast night on May 31st, she couldn’t help but to worry about the man who held her heart.

She currently worked at a maternity ward right in Balham.  Earlier that day, a fellow nurse had come in with the news from a friend who worked elsewhere.  It seemed everyone knew someone at and EMS or at a triage unit.  Evacuees from France had begun arriving from the war front.  That nurse had worked fifteen hours straight, slept for four hours, and worked another twelve, with no end in sight.  Maternity could be grueling and occasionally tragic, but mostly Cecilia and her fellow nurses dealt chiefly with new life. A hush fell over them as they worked.

“So the retreat’s begun?” another nurse had asked as they folded sheets.  Being a maternity ward, they would not receive any evacuees.   

“Likely it’s been done for some time,” Cecilia replied tersely, snapping a pillowcase into folds. She sometimes regretted being separated from her family, especially her father, whose work it would have been useful to track Robbie during his time enlisted. She had not been fooled by the wireless reports that morale was high among the troops and that the “strategic withdrawal” was for, well, strategic reasons. Her heart quaked at the thought of his being dead and already gone from her. She didn’t like to dwell there for too long, but the nature of her work forced her to acknowledge the possibility.

She had completed her shift that night and trudged home to a lonely flat and a simple meal of bits of corned beef in béchamel sauce on toast. Grace had taught her to cook more advanced dishes to the point that Cecilia was rather a good cook, but she had just the one gas burner for a stove, and starting the fireplace was more work and more heat than she could bear to deal with.  A cup of a tea was her sole comfort as she fingered the spine of the book of Housman poems that Robbie had so loved. She traced the teacup stain on the cover, imagining the lips that eventually met that cup and ruing the fact that she could hardly remember the feel of his lips upon her neck.

She read to drown out the wireless of her landlady downstairs, to no avail. She was tempted to buy a phonograph for her records – if only she hadn’t left hers at Surrey! – but knew that her money was better spent accruing interest for her future.

There it was again, the uncertainty of him. At least in prison the days were numbered. War dragged on and showed no sign of slowing. Cecilia thought about being nearly thirty and still unmarried, still unattached to the man she loved, and she hated it.

She tried to focus on the words and read again:

_Their shoulders held the sky suspended;_

_They stood, and earth’s foundations stay;_

_What God abandoned, these defended…_

…but lost it there and couldn’t. Suddenly, she heard the cracking voice of her landlady, and sighing, she knew it could mean one thing…

“Tallis! Door!”

Marching down the stairs, ready for a confrontation about how many visitors a woman her age should entertain, Cecilia descended the staircase and peered down to the landing.

“Susan! How good to see you!” she cried, crossing the threshold and embracing her friend. “I trust your parents are well?” Cecilia had spent Christmas with the Daniels family for the past two years, and liked them immensely.

“Quite well. They ask about you constantly.” Susan’s eyes shifted from the glaring landlady to her oblivious friend. “Cee, is there somewhere we can talk privately? It’s a bit of an urgent matter.”

“Yes, of course,” she replied and they went up to Cecilia’s flat. Cecilia shut the door, Susan didn’t waste a moment.

“You need to come to my hospital.  I was transferred to the EMS.”

“Oh?” Cecilia’s voice was not unsurprised as she walked into her small kitchen. “Are you short nurses? I thought you were contacted by the ward sister if they needed you. Would you like some tea, Susan? You look a little peaked.”

“No, there’s not time. We’ve got to get back before my shift ends.” Susan wrung her hands trying to convey what was going on without unnecessarily upsetting her friend.

Cecilia poked her head from around the kitchen door, fixing the kettle on the burner as she spoke. “You left during your shift? Susan, whatever were you thinking?”

Susan Daniels made sure Cecilia held her gaze when she spoke next. “Cee, we’ve received soldiers from the retreat in France.”

Cecilia’s face became impassive, but she turned off the burner and came back into the room and clasped her hands together as if to pray and she held them up to her mouth.  From behind them came a lone syllable: “Oh.”

“Cee, he’s there,” she whispered.

Cecilia’s eyes widened as her knees buckled, and Susan rushed over to lead her into a chair.  Cecilia’s hands shook and she didn’t respond, but grasped the chair as if to anchor herself.

 “He’s not…” Susan stopped abruptly, thinking of the words she ought to use. “He’s ill, of course, or else he wouldn’t be there. And it’s not that we’re terribly short nurses, but…but he’d do loads better if someone could attend to him personally.  The matron hasn’t said a thing about not allowing visitors, so we figured you’d be our first.”

Cecilia stared at some point on the wall, unblinking. She seemed to be regulating her breathing.

Susan gave a hoarse laugh. “I won’t lie – I’ve told your story so many times it’s like legend. People can’t seem to believe that we’ve got this chance to reunite two lovers.” She gently took Cecilia by the shoulders. “They’re waiting for us to come back. We need to hurry. Shift changes in thirty minutes and my friend thinks she can talk the next crew into covering for us. We’ll try to keep you there the night.”

“Susan, I need you to tell me,” Cecilia said evenly. “How bad of shape is he in?”

Susan paused and pursed her lips. “It’s a severe case of septicemia, but he’s not in shock.”

Cecilia nodded and took this in, which was not quite the effect Susan was expecting. She decided to go on. “We were unsure if he’d make it through the night, you know, if we couldn’t monitor his status and make sure everything was just so. So Catherine – I mean, my friend Nurse MaAllister – she thought that if we fetched you, you could keep an eye on him and get us if his state changes.  Otherwise he might slip away.”

Cecilia rose and strode towards her bedroom. She didn’t close the door, but Susan could hear the sound of fabric being discarded and swapped. Cecilia came out wearing a serviceable dress – perhaps the only clean one she had? – and nodded again. “I’ll come,” she croaked.

Susan nodded, in hopes of maintaining the calm Cecilia had worked herself to. “Good. Let’s be quick – we’ll be cutting it close.”

They made their way to the door and Cecilia paused at a mirror to check her hair, and to Susan’s great surprise, apply a quick layer of lipstick.

“Cee, really? We’ve got to move!”

Cecilia returned the look of indignation and said in reply, “Oh, you’d do it too, Susan, if you hadn’t seen him in almost two years.”

They caught each other’s glares and Cecilia’s mouth twitched, then Susan burst out laughing and Cecilia joined her just for a moment, but turned her face away as it crumpled into tears.

“Come now, dear,” Susan said softly, shaking her by the shoulders again. “Courage. You’ll need your courage for the night. Tears won’t heal him.”

Cecilia wiped her nose on a handkerchief and composed herself. “I can’t lose him, Susan. I can’t lose him now that he’s come back.”

* * *

“Sue, is that you? Took you long enough! Hurry up, it’s almost nine!”

“Sorry!” Nurse Daniels said, dressing back into uniform. “The Tube was delayed. We came as fast as we could. Nurse MacAllister, this is Cecilia Tallis.”

They nodded at each other, while Nurse MacAllister brought them up to speed.  “ You’re lucky you’re a nurse – I don’t know if I’d pull this off for anyone else.  We won’t have you get in uniform, of course.  They’d have our heads.  But we’ve pulled up a chair for you and you can keep him company. I’ve informed the next crew – matron’s down for the night. Anyway, on to Private Turner!  He’s resting quite comfortably now.  We’ve got him on a mild dose of morphine and the sulfa, of course.” Nurse MacAllister said all of this as she swept Cecilia through the maze of beds and supplies.  Cecilia hadn’t been to an EMS yet, though she was trained to work at one if called.  The smell of burnt flesh and oil were still strong in the air, along with the sharp smell of antiseptic.  Suddenly they were at a row of beds and Cecilia knew they were close.  Nurse MacAllister could feel her reluctance to take another step further and accept the new reality of her life, so introducing the most basic of instructions seemed the best way to start. “Using sulfa means we need to be dedicated to hydration – we don’t want the…”

“Compound to crystallize in the kidney. Yes, I know,” Cecilia offered. Her arms were crossed defensively and she looked at the floor, not daring to meet anyone’s eyes.

“He’s in the bed third from the end here, on the left,” Nurse MacAllister said softly, as the floor was quiet but for a few low voices talking. She gently pushed Cecilia along towards the bed. “His pulse and blood pressure are so-so; not great, but not to the point where we ought to worry about that yet quite yet.  No bowel movements, hasn’t emptied his bladder yet. These would be good things to see, but we have a couple of hours before it becomes an issue. He’s also running a fever – about 102 last we checked.  Seems to shiver, though, poor dear.  His respiratory rate is also low, but also expected at this point in recovery.” Recovery seemed a rather optimistic word, but it did the trick: Cecilia looked up and nodded to show she was still listening.

“He’s right here, love,” Nurse MacAllister.

Cecilia turned toward him and gasped despite herself, her hand flying to her cheek in surprise. His skin was grey and clammy, and his hair was longer than she remembered and unkempt. A beard was forming on his face and made him look years older than he was. The bed covers were pulled up to his chin and someone had placed a washcloth across his forehead. His body, his wonderful body, remained hidden underneath the sheets.

Cecilia muffled a sob and sank to the chair next to him, placing a shaking hand on his chest.

“Here, let me check the wound,” Nurse MacAllister said, gently moving to her side. Cecilia obediently sat up and observed. Being careful not to lose the heat below the blanket, the nurse expertly checked the wound.  Cecilia brushed away her tears as she saw the imperfection in his torso. It still seemed rather fresh, though she figured whatever object had made the tear must have been removed a few days ago.

 “Is there any information, any at all, about how long he’s had this?” Cecilia asked.

“No, not really. He had some care when he got off the boat in Dover, who thought the shrapnel must have been removed at Dunkirk right on the beach. There was a fair amount of sand on him, they said. It was cleaned there but hasn’t started to heal yet. His body has many things to do right now – it will come in time.”

Cecilia nodded, sitting upright for a moment before leaning over on the bed, touching his face lightly and staring intently at the eyes that wouldn’t open.

“My shift is over,” Nurse MacAllister said quietly.  “Nurse Adams –she’s at the end of the row over there – can help you if anything changes.  Just keep your head down and stay by him right here.”

“Yes, of course,” Cecilia replied, her voice thick. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Nurse MacAllister gave a tired smile. “It’s easy to forget all these men are loved by someone. Things like this help me keep my focus.” She squeezed Cecilia’s arm good-naturedly. “He’ll be better, you’ll see.  I’ll see you later.“

The hours drifted on into the night, but for the first few, Cecilia stayed awake and watched him. For years she had nothing but his letters, nothing but the memory of growing up with him in Surrey, nothing but the hour they had together that night in the library. And here he was, clinging to life but closer to her than ever. A pleasant junior nurse came around regularly to check his vitals and move his legs. “To prevent his blood from clotting,” she explained to the weary woman observing.

“Oh, I know,” Cecilia replied. “If his blood doesn’t circulate it could allow the infection to grow more rapidly, as well. I’m glad you have time for this.”

“Just doing my duty,” came the cheerful reply. “I do think he’s doing better. He’s less grey than he was at the start of my shift.  Must be you.” 

“I think it’s the saline drip,” Cecilia replied evenly, though her cheeks colored with pleasure. “I’m glad to see he’s got one.”

“Oh yes, they’re a tremendous help if we fear dehydration.”  Checking his temperature, the young nurse brightened again. “More good news! He’s down to 101. That fever might break tonight, if we’re lucky.”

“Thank heaven,” Cecilia breathed.  Feeling emboldened, she snuck her hand under the covers and found his hand without the IV, and clasped it lightly.

The nurse smiled softly, but said nothing to reprimand the rogue visitor. “I’ll be two rows over if you need me. Otherwise I’ll see you later on in my shift. You’re staying the night?”

“I hadn’t thought it through,” Cecilia admitted. “But I might as well.”

“You don’t work tomorrow?”

“I do, but I doubt I’ll be able to sleep if I go home.”

“Doze if you can,” she suggested. “You’re no use to him if you’re sick from lack of sleep.”

“Keep up that attitude and you’ll be Ward Matron in no time,” Cecilia replied.  The nurse went off with a laugh, leaving Cecilia alone with Robbie once again. His row was a quiet one, with fevered and comatose patients sleeping fitfully, their bodies perspiring as if to show the monumental fight that was going on within.

The night went on slowly. Cecilia dozed on and off, woken by the occasional visit from Nurse Carey, to whom Cecilia had taken a great liking. “Hmm,” she said at one point.

“What’s that?” Cecilia asked, rousing from the chair where she had curled up in a nap.

“He still hasn’t moved his bowels or passed urine,” Nurse Carey said quietly. “I would have liked to see that by now.”

Cecilia knew what that meant.  Movement in his intestines meant his body was working properly. Urine would show his kidneys were still capable of cleaning out any impurities or bacteria. A lack of movement could mean his organs were shutting down.

“There’s still time yet,” Nurse Carey added quickly. “But help me move his legs for a moment, and then we’ll put him on his side so he doesn’t get bedsores.” They flexed his legs for a few minutes, then bolstered him on his right side, facing Cecilia. He grunted slightly as they settled him in, and coughed weakly. Cecilia froze in anticipation of hearing his voice, but this only excited the nurse. “A most _excellent_ noise, Private Turner!  At least his lungs are doing their work. There! Now he’s comfy. We’ll keep him there til morning then switch him back.”

Her stomach churned into a pit after that, worry flooding her veins.  She clasped his hands again. She hadn’t prayed in years and hadn’t believed in God for just as long, but tonight she felt the strong urging to appeal to a higher power for this man’s life.  To have it dashed away from her when all was so close to being well – it ate her up inside.

Her eyes became so heavy she drifted off into sleep.  She dreamt of sitting in the Wiltshire cottage alone, the sound of the moor around her filling every empty space inside her and house. In her dream, she wandered to every room and looked in every closet. Looking, though she knew she couldn’t find what she sought. Her dream bounced around and suddenly she was at the seashore at Roedean. Girls laughed in the background, but Cecilia walked closer towards the water til the waves lapped at her ankles, and then….

“Who in the world are you?”

Cecilia snapped her head up in surprise, and for a moment did not know where she was. Words formed in her mind but she could not speak. Suddenly the world focused in around her and she was aware of her surroundings: the barest beams of sunlight wafted through the windows and onto the beds of soldiers. Rows and rows of soldiers. The bed across the row from her was empty, and finally she remembered the previous night: Susan’s surprise visit, their mad dash across southwest London, and the vigil at Robbie’s bedside. Her hands were still wrapped around his free left hand, tucked warmly under the covers.

The matron was an older lady who had served throughout the Great War and into this one. Her wards were ran without fuss and with very little deviation from the norm.  An unidentified woman in a triage hospital was very, very far from normal.

“Ma’am, I will ask you once more. Who are you?” Normally the tone and timbre of her voice was enough to diminish even the gruffest of men, but Cecilia’s mouth opened and closed but no sound came out. Alarmed that she might have an additional patient on her hands, the matron’s voice changed and she tried again. “Ma’am, are you well?”

“Only tired,” Cecilia finally breathed. “Did he pass urine?”

“Pardon me?” It was not the response Sister expected.

Cecilia gestured to Robbie. “Nurse was worried his infection was shutting down his kidneys. That was around midnight. What time is it now?”

“It’s six o’clock. Ma’am…”

“Oh God.  I have to be at Balham by eight.”

The ward matron was nearly overcome with shock. “Ma’am?!”

“Two ounces around four in the morning, Cecilia!” rang out the tired but still-cheerful voice of Nurse Carey from behind the matron.  A few heads stirred from her outburst. “Fever was steady at 101. He might be on the mend.”

“Nurse Carey, what in the…”

“Good morning, Sister! I am to report that Nurse MacAllister can explain our visitor, and she will be in at six thirty.”

 “Nurse Carey. A question.” The nurse stood in front of the matron, calm and collected. “When are visitors permited?”

“During visiting hours.”

“And visiting hours are?”

“Neither posted anywhere within this EMS nor directly forbidden per the rulebook provided by your senior staff.” Sister’s mouth dropped in surprise and Nurse Carey continued. “This is Miss Tallis, a close friend of Private Turner.  An off –duty nurse alerted her to his presence her and she came last night. Since Miss Tallis herself is a nurse and works today, we thought it best if she fit in her visit throughout the night.”

“Nurse Carey…”

“Only following the orders given to me by my superiors, Sister. Nurse MacAllister will be in at six thirty. If you’ll excuse me, I have bedpans to clean.”

The sister stood for a minute, mouth agape, until she turned to the woman and the patient. Cecilia had gone back to stroking Robbie’s hand and seemed unaware of the commotion about her.

The older woman shifted over to his bed. She suspected Cecilia was in shock and knew she had to deal with this situation in a delicate matter. “Miss Tallis, let’s check his vitals before we go to my office for a cup of tea.”

Cecilia nodded, her eyes heavy-lidded but unblinking.

The matron check his lungs and heart rate, then his blood pressure. “Low, but that’s to be expected. Nurse Carey seems to be on top of his medicines and saline. He’s comfortable for the moment. Here, my dear. Take my arm and let’s go have a chat.”

* * *

Cecilia slept on a small cot in Sister Carruthers’ office until eleven that morning. Convinced of her innocence in a larger plot to upset the peace of the hospital, Sister had phoned Cecilia’s own ward matron at the maternity ward to explain her impending absence.  _Of course_ Sister Thomas had understood the situation and  _of course_ Cecilia ought to take the day to recover from the shock, and did Nurse Tallis want Sister Thomas to phone Robbie’s mother to let her know the news? Sister Carruthers got the impression that she was in the presence of a woman well-loved, and while not expected, events of this nature were not at all unheard of.

Nurse MacAllister took the blame. Since they were short hands, her punishment was bedpan duty for the day until Sister Carruthers grew impatient with the junior staff and was summoned back to her regular duties by noon. Nurse Daniels admitted her part as well, but since she was allegedly off duty at the time, there was really nothing to reprimand. The injured lists had been making their way throughout London and all morning, worried family members had been lining up outside the EMS’s gates.  By the time Cecilia got back to Robbie’s bedside, a notice had been posted at the entrance of the hospital:  _Visitors permitted on an individual basis 10am to 4pm daily._  

At 4pm, Cecilia took her leave, albeit reluctantly. Robbie’s fever remained low and he still hadn’t woken up, but she was encouraged by the nurses that his condition looked promising. Sister Carruthers had doubled down on protocol since the incident the night previous, so after triple checking that they weren’t to be seen, Nurses MacAllister and Daniels gave Cecilia a quick hug in the foyer before she departed. 

Other visitors milled about the front of the hospital, waving good-bye to loved ones who were well enough to wave back from a hospital window.

“Excuse me,” she said, stepping around a man her age near the entrance gate. She was already outside when she heard her name.

“Cecilia? Cecilia Tallis?”

She whirled around to identify the voice, and recognized a friend of Robbie’s from Cambridge, from the same group of fellows who had abandoned him the minute he stood accused.  The man stepped forward to continue the conversation, but stopped when he was met with her furious stare. For a few seconds she held his gaze with a look of contempt, then turned and left without a word.

“What a sourpuss!” one of his companions exclaimed. “Who in the world was that?”

“It’s a long story,” the man replied. “But it starts with the fellow who was the top of my class at Cambridge…”


	3. Apologies Accepted

_Saturday, June 1st, 1940_

“Leon, is that you?”

It was almost eight o’clock that evening, and Leon Tallis had been working late that Saturday.  He had barely gotten through the doorway when he heard his beloved wife’s voice ring out.  There was an edge to it that he’d learned to identify in his four years of marriage, and it worried him. “Yes, dearest, it’s me. Are you well?”

The shape of his wife waddled out from their drawing room.  At eight months pregnant, Mary Tallis was nearly bedridden and often tired.  Leon’s marriage to Mary had been a quick and quiet affair the spring of 1936. Briony had been a bridesmaid, and the first Tallis grandchild, a girl named Evelyn, was born just a year later. Mary’s first pregnancy had been difficult, and the second one hadn’t been any easier. Their little girl had been whisked away to Mary’s parents weeks ago under threat of invasion, while her mother chose to stay in London, close to her doctor and husband. The chief worry of the Tallis household lately had been the health and safety of mother and baby.  Leon had been working extra hours in anticipation of the baby’s upcoming birth, and his escorting Mary up to Glasgow to remain with her parents throughout the war.

“You shouldn’t be up!” Leon scolded. “You’ll have false labor again.”

“Then come sit with me. I’ve something to tell you.”

“Something’s the matter. Is it Emily?”

“No, it’s not your mother. Come to the table and I’ll have Rose bring your dinner.”

His arm around her for support, he led her to the dining room where the young maid had placed a plate of roast beef with boiled potatoes. He sat her down in a chaise lounge, where she often sat these days while he ate his dinner, and took his own place at the table.

“You ordered an excellent one,” he complimented as he dug in. Confident that the news she had for him was not dire, but aware she had ordered the cook to make something he loved, he ate a few minutes before he asked. “Now.  What’s so urgent?”

Mary adjusted herself to sit up. Her feet were elevated and she closed her eyes from the effort.  Previously she had been an actress, and she had welcomed the switch from the exciting life of the theater to one more maternal, not anticipating that her body might protest the change. Nevertheless, her circle of friends remained wide and she remained well-connected with the outside world.

She waited for him to finish swallowing before she began. “I’m wondering if you’ve heard from your sister today.”

Leon continued eating. “Briony?”

“No. Cecilia.” At this, Leon put down his fork and knife and stared at his wife.  She continued. “I’ve had two visitors and three phones calls in the past four hours, all with the same news. Apparently Harold Blume saw her at an EMS in Morden today.”

Leon’s face darkened.  “Harold Blume is…”

“He’s at the Ministry of Pensions.  Hangs around the with rowing crowd still.  He was in the same college as that Turner fellow, at Cambridge.”

 “Yes, I think I remember now.” Leon twisted his napkin around his fist and nervously dabbed his mouth. His appetite was gone. “Well, it should make sense. Cecilia is a nurse, you know – perhaps she works there.”

“She was in civilian clothes, he said, and when he called her name, she stared him down.” When Leon didn’t respond to this she continued. “He was there visiting his brother, who just arrived from the evacuation from France and was injured. He told Harry also heard about a woman who had come to the EMS earlier that night, because a nurse had recognized her fiancé who’d been wounded at Dunkirk. Said the nurses wouldn’t stop talking about how romantic it all was, and that he didn’t put two and two together til he saw her.”

At the sound of Dunkirk, Leon’s face paled and he looked towards his wife. “Robbie’s been injured.”

“From what I hear.”

“And Cee’s been to see him.”

“That’s what everyone’s saying.”

Leon got up and paced around the room. Mary watched him, pitying her poor husband. His family was complicated enough as it was, but the mention of Cecilia could keep Leon up for nights.  Cecilia turning up was another matter entirely. He looked the window, staring at nothing in particular but ran his hands through his hair, debating with himself.

“At what hospital was it?”

“An Emergency Medical Service in Morden,” she repeated.

“I need to go there.”

“Leon…”

“This needs to stop.  She needs to know and…”

“Leon…”

“And we can’t just let her suffer alone. She needs to know we care.”

“Leon…”

“What good is a _family_ if they won’t support you?”

Mary grabbed a hold of his wrist as he paced around her and pulled him to her. “What if it’s like last time? She might not want to talk to you.”

“I have to at least try.”

Mary stroked his hair as she squeezed him tight.  “I know. And you’re a good man for trying.”

“I don’t suppose I can go tonight,” he said, his words muffled into the fabric of her blouse.

“Louisa said visiting hours end at four in the afternoon. You might go tomorrow and see if you intercept her.”

“Suppose she works?”

“I wouldn’t know, Leon.”

“But I must try,” he repeated.

“It might be your best chance,” she admitted.

“And you wouldn’t mind? I don’t want something to upset you, so close to baby coming.”

“It’d be a joy for you to reunite with her.  I know you miss her so. Then our children would know their aunt.”

He cupped her cheek, smiling indulgently. “That’s sweet of you, dearest.  I mean  with everything else. It’s not just Cecilia back in our lives, but the mess with Robbie and dealing with my parents. You know how nasty Emily still gets about it.”

“I married you,” she began, smoothing his hair, “For better or for worse. And it seems in order for things to be better they might be worse for a little while. That’s not so bad, is it?

“I suppose not.” He sat up and kissed her soundly, his hand falling on her belly. “I was lucky to marry you, my lovely wife.”

She smiled and cupped his chin. “I only knew you’d get sweeter with age.”

* * *

Leon paced outside the hospital. It was nearing six o’clock and he was worried the gossipers had been wrong and it hadn’t been Cecilia at all. The front doors had been locked and closed for some time, so there was no way to check if Robbie was still admitted.

He’d already had to explain his predicament to a policeman who’d been sent to ensure Leon wasn’t a threat to himself or the hospital.  He had tried to sit and wait, but he found that sitting still was further agony.

Dejected, he left the hospital courtyard and made his way towards his automobile. He had just unlocked the door when he saw a head of familiar hair among the throng of people walking along the sidewalk. He followed the head bobbing throughout the crowd when he saw her face – her distinctive face with its angles and fine nose. He slammed the door shut and edged his way along the busy sidewalk. He had a sense of déjà vu as he grabbed her elbow and called out her name.

She whirled around and froze for a moment.  Despite her neatly arranged hair and clean dress, Leon had the sense all was an afterthought today. Her eyes showed her exhaustion.  She regained her composure and turned away from him, saying softly, “No.”

“Cecilia, please.”

She began to run and he was not about to lose her again. He yanked her arm again and jerked her to him, cornering her against a shop wall. He heard the gasps around him and met her furious stare.

“Leon, _no.”_

“Please just listen to me.”

“I said _no._ ”

“Some get the police!” A bystander cried. Leon felt a hand on his shoulder, and he swatted it away though he could feel the mood of the crowd grow uneasy.

“No, thank you. It’s just my brother,” Cecilia said loudly.  To Leon she lowered her voice. “I’m not speaking to you.”

“Please just listen to me, Cecilia. I was an idiot. Please, let me apologize properly.” She turned her head away and stared at the wall rather than meet his eyes. “At least tell me if he’s doing all right. Please, Cee.”

This got her attention.  She turned to face him.  “You know about Robbie.”

“One of his university chums saw him.”

“Fucking Blume,” Cecilia swore, her free hand raised to massage her temple.  A hiss rose up from a passerby who put his hands around his companion’s ears.

“It’s not like you’re invisible. Only a dozen people have managed to bother my poor wife about it in the past twenty-four hours.”

“Yes, it must be difficult to be the subject of so much gossip again. Tell me what it’s like, to have everyone despise you?”

Leon sighed and knew she had a point. “I’m sorry for behaving like a coward. I could have defended him and you and it would have cost me a lot of friends and more.  If I knew it’d cost me seeing you, then I’d have done things different."

She broke from where he’d cornered her and walked briskly towards the hospital. “And what of Robbie? You grew up with him. On Briony’s word, he wasn’t to be trusted?”

He followed after her and kept pace. “I didn’t know who to believe at first. By the time I knew the truth it was too late, he was already convicted and parole wasn’t even a possibility then.”

He thought this might stop her but it didn’t. “You meant to tell me you knew who did it, and you chose to let him roam about the house, working for our family? For God’s sake, Leon, he could have hurt Briony, too!”

The second mention of the missing sister was surprising to Leon.  Briony was a complicated person, but that Cecilia hadn’t completely written off her well-being was news enough. “Hurt her? Who are you talking about?”

“You let _Danny Hardman_ keep working for our family even though you knew was no better than a rapist and went after little girls. Do I have to spell it out for you? I’ve never heard something so daft in my life.”

“Oh Cee,” Leon breathed, finally understanding where her confusion came from. Her anger was misdirected, and he understood he would have to make her see the world as it was. She heard his change of tone and slowed down to look at him. “I’ve been trying to tell you.  If Robbie hadn’t been at dinner that night, it most certainly would have been Danny who received the blame.”

They were at the front gates of the EMS now, but they had slowed to halt as Cecilia stood processing it all. “I don’t understand. Then who…”

“Let’s not talk about it here,” he said firmly.  He had a good reminder in how fast gossip travelled in London in the past day, and he did not need to be accused of slander in public. Paul Marshall would certainly win against a case of hearsay. He glanced at the hospital building then back at her. “You’re here to work?”

“No, to visit.”

“Visiting hours are over at four. I’ve been here since three thirty, waiting for you. I thought you’d be going, not coming.”

“I have…permission, I guess it is. I’m working the day shift at a maternity hospital this month so I can’t make regular hours, but I think I charmed the matron, so I’m allowed from six til nine at night.”

“Oh,” was all Leon could say. “I hoped to talk more.” She didn’t answer, so he pressed on. “I want to hear about him, Cee, and apologize for everything I didn’t do. If he’s up for it, that is. But that’s your choice.  Say the word and I’ll leave you both alone if it’s what you both want. “

A cloud came over Cecilia’s face.  “He wanted me to make amends with you all. In his last letter.” She took Leon’s hand and they walked toward the entrance. “Wait inside for a bit. I’m going to check on him quickly and if he’s all right,  maybe we’ll find a bite to eat.”

“If he’s not?”

“I’ll come and tell you and then give you my address and we can…we can discuss things later. Unless Briony’s passed that on, too.”

“Passed what on?”

Cecilia sighed loudly as they stepped into the receiving room of the hospital. “Briony’s foiled me by becoming a probationer. She got my address from the nurse’s directory and wrote me last month.”

This was obviously news to Leon, who thought about his strange little sister’s motives as Cecilia greeted the nurses and went back to see Robbie. The list of messes he was making – with a baby on the way in a month, no less – was growing exponentially.  It was too late for a retrial.  Leon wasn’t sure they had a chance at clearing Robbie’s record. He hadn’t studied criminal law in some time, but he had friends who did. He could make up to his sister and the man who was as good as brother to him by at least looking into how to undo the damage.

He didn’t have the energy to consider how he would break this news to his parents.

Cecilia strode out to where he waited with a grateful smile on her face and tears in her eyes. Leon jumped to his feet. “Good news?”

“He looks good and he’s sleeping soundly.” 

“Oh, thank God,” Leon breathed,  thankful she didn’t push him away when he pulled her in for an embrace.  She squeezed him before she broke it off, and they left the hospital .

Cecilia was nearly skipping as they made their way to the street.  “I didn’t have the heart to wake him, he was sleeping so peacefully.  Which made my choice easier – I _am_ quite hungry.”  She seemed momentarily embarrassed to have let her guard down with her brother so quickly. “I’ve been so worried the past few days I haven’t had an appetite.”

They entered a small restaurant and sat a table across from each other. He noticed her checking her purse to see how much money she was able to spend.  “Order what you like. I’ll pay the bill. It’s the least I can do from tearing you away from him tonight.”

She sank back into her chair, her euphoria evaporating when she remembered their earlier conversation. They were silent until they ordered, when Cecilia pulled herself back up to the table. “You seem to think you know what actually happened that night.”

“I’m certain I now know what happened.”

“How long did it take you to realize?”

“A year and a half.”

This displeased her. Her eyes narrowed and he pressed on before she could attack. “Listen for a moment. You acted so strange that evening – _so_ strange – that I thought after that there was something foul between the two of you. Remember? You didn’t want him to come to dinner that night, not at all, and you were so hysterical afterwards that it made sense that maybe he had threatened you, along with everything else.  I couldn’t see what was right in front of me.  I thought…that he had enchanted you in some way, that it really couldn’t be love. That maybe that business in the library,” he looked away from her for a moment, preserving her privacy,  “was just some business to blame the heat and hormones, so it made…sense, I guess, for Robbie to go and…”

“Rape our cousin?”

“You’ll have to admit, the timing of these things really wasn’t ideal.” She scoffed, but he pressed on. “At first I trusted Briony. She doesn’t miss a thing, really she doesn’t, but she has this tendency to...embellish where she ought not.”

“I know the cost of that.”

“I know,” he said sorrowfully.  “And I’m sorry for my part in it. My version makes little sense without her embellishments, but doesn’t hold up without it. And I’m sorry to say it corroborated her version of what happened that day.  Emily won’t hear a word of it, and I’ve tried reasoning.  She’s still convinced you were hypnotized by him, or something like it.

“I’m getting off subject. Months later, I started to hear gossip about him.  Girls who had been close to him had disappeared, only to show up years later with a child in tow, or rumor of one.  I heard of a few who were committed to asylums.  All young, too. He denied it, of course. We all believed him. There were other things, in hindsight.”

Thinking he was talking about Robbie, Cecilia’s temper flared. “Who said that?!”

He seemed not to hear her as he continued his story.  “I never heard from him after that day in June. He wouldn’t return my calls, positively avoided me on the street.  And we were on the same side of the court room!”   

Now Cecilia was looking lost, and her voice was small when she asked. “But Danny wasn’t at the trial. Who are you talking about?”

“Paul Marshall.”  His smile was forced when she looked up at him in shock.  She didn’t reply, and he could tell she was processing it in her mind.  “How much do you remember about that night?”

“Everything.”

“So you’ll remember that Lola came to dinner with marks on her forearms.”

“From the twins,” Cecilia said dully, clinging to the story she knew.

 Leon leaned in closer.  “The twins could not leave marks that noticeable on Lola if they tried.  The doctor even wrote it on her medical record – it was about the only evidence against Lola’s case.  And where was Robbie when, allegedly, the twins beat on Lola?”

“With me, “  she breathed, her eyes filling with tears.

Leon smiled, seemingly as a way to mask the pain of the truth.  “And the twins, as Emily has grudgingly admitted years later, were chatting on the telephone with their father while everyone else readied for dinner.  Danny Hardman was with his father.”  The smile stayed on Leon’s face, but it was strained. “Marshall had every excuse in the book not to talk to me afterward, and I accepted them all.  I was a fool, Cecilia. I’m so sorry I never realized it until it was too late.”

They were silent for a moment, even as a waitress brought plates of food. Cecilia didn’t even seem to see it arrive.

“I am an idiot,” she whispered.  She looked up at him and blinked, tears falling from her eyes again. She was starting to piece it all together.  “I’m an utter idiot. You came to the hospital three years ago to tell me.”

 He nodded.  “I would have come sooner, but Grace was unrelenting. She wouldn’t give up your address for anything, and she certainly wouldn’t hear me about this.”

“No, she wouldn’t,” Cecilia agreed.  Leon offered her a handkerchief and she dabbed her eyes. “She still refuses to discuss it. Oh God. If I had consented to see you then…it could have changed everything.”

“Maybe not,” he said soothingly. “But it would have been a start.”

She was silent for a moment as she played with the food on her plate. “If we’re to be reconciled, I have my conditions.  This business trying to clear his name is a good start, but you’ll need to apologize directly to him when he comes around.  I can’t have everyone pretending they were innocent in all of this.”

“I _need_ to apologize to him, Cee.  I can’t tell you how many nights of sleep I’ve lost over the two of you.”

“Then I’ll let him decide when he’s on the mend,” she answered.  

“Good.  Thank you.  Now,” he said, looking at his plate.  “I think I can finish this off in no time.”

She nibbled at her food.  “It tastes like sawdust,” she said, making a face.  “I don’t think I’m hungry anymore.”

He reached over and covered her hand with his and squeezed it gently.  “Eat, if only for him.  It might be a long recovery, and we can’t have you getting ill.”  She nodded and dutifully chewed, tasting nothing but noting that it quelled the churning in her stomach.  She mulled over what he had told her and she still couldn’t get over it – all these years, _Paul Marshall_ was the one responsible for her and Robbie’s mutual agony.

“I think I owe Able Seaman Hardman an apology,” she finally admitted, scrapping the last bit of shepherd’s pie from her plate.

“I heard you’d gone down hard on him.  They were awfully nervous when Robbie was released to the Army.”

“So many years of seeing it all in a particular way,” Cecilia began, then shaking her head.  “I wanted someone to blame.”

Leon then told her of his plan to try and clear Robbie’s record.  “I don’t know much about that part of the law, only that we’ll need new hard evidence that could clear his name or implicate Marshall.  I doubt we could have the charges dropped, five years later.”

“That reminds me,” Cecilia said. “I told you Briony’s written me.”

“Yes, what about?” Leon wiped his mouth with a napkin and leaned closer to focus in on their conversation.

“She says she wants to change her evidence.  That she’s beginning to understand the full extent of her actions.  I don’t know what she means by that, but it seemed she was intent on making amends.”

Leon perked up.  “Well, that certainly is a surprise, and maybe even a help.  What did you tell her?”

Cecilia shrugged.  “It was a month ago.  I was waiting to hear what Robbie had to say about it. He had just written about feeling guilty that I hadn’t spoken to Emily or the Old Man in so long.”

“That was a generous thought.”

Her eyes were filling with tears again but warm with emotion.  “That’s Robbie for you,” she said again, sniffling through her tears. “I am so tired of crying.  The news could have been so much worse this week.  I should be thankful he made it back across the channel, but I can’t understand why I keep weeping.”

“It’s a strange kind of happiness, isn’t it? After Evelyn was born, everything about her was too beautiful.  I couldn’t believe I’d help make something so delicate,” Leon offered, taking her hand again.

Cecilia blew her nose delicately into the handkerchief he’d lent her.  “So much about me, so little about you.  Grace heard you married.”

“Yes, that’s right.  May of 1936.  Mary was quite…comforting to me during all the turmoil.  It felt good to settle into something stable.  Evelyn was born the same time next year.”

“She’s just turned three, then,” Cecilia surmised. She gave a little laugh.  “A niece!  I had no idea.”

“And another on the way.”

“You’re joking.”  Cecilia looked at her brother with amazement and tenderness.  “My brother Leon, a family man.  I can hardly believe it.”

“I so want you to meet them,”  he said, taking her hand and squeezing.  “Both you and Robbie.  Evie always asks why our family is so small and so sad.  She knows something’s not right.”

“Smart girl.  And Mary?”  Cecilia asked, dabbing her eyes before folding the handkerchief into her purse. “Mary. The actress, right?” Leon nodded.  “She seemed to be quite the socialite.  Won’t she be embarrassed to be around the prodigal sister and felon lover?”

“She married me during the height of it,” Leon pointed out.  “I don’t think she would mind, though I think she’s more worried about this next baby.”

“When is she due?”

“Four weeks, likely sooner.”

“My God!”  Cecilia exclaimed.  “And you’re out dining while she’s home alone!”

“She gave her blessing to have me track you down, plus we have a hired girl to stay throughout the night.  Normally I’m right there at her side, lest you think I’m some brute of a husband.”

She smiled and checked a small watch that hung from a pocket on her dress. “7:45.”

“That’s enough time for you to visit him,” Leon commented. “Let’s get you back. “

That June evening was still bright, thanks to the long days of summer.  The green leaves glimmered in a gentle wind, making the neighborhood alight with a special glow that calmed the weary minds of both brother and sister.  He left her at the gate.  “Write your address and I’ll be in touch with you.”

“I’m working days right now, but I’ll be back to nights next month,” Cecilia said, writing on a slip of paper she procured from her purse. “You’ll find me here in the evenings til they grow tired of me or Robbie is released.”

“What happens then?”

“It won’t be for a while,” she assured him.  “If he’s been out cold for almost a full week, they’ll surely have him on bedrest for at least one week before they even begin to discuss sending him somewhere to convalesce.  Then it’s reporting to Aldershot and being at the mercy of an officer.”

“But no prison?”

“No prison,” she repeated.  “That was the deal.  Serve in the army and he’d be free once they release him.”

“What are the odds of that?”

Cecilia shrugged.  “Depends on how well he recovers.  They can’t promote him because of his felony, but they can’t do much with a twenty-eight year old private who’s recovering from blood poisoning. ”

“But he should recover?”

She stared past him and exhaled loudly. “Things are looking good for now. “

Leon pulled out a card and wrote on the back of this. “This is my business card for the bank. I’m there in the day if you need to get to get in touch with me.  Our home address is on the back.  You can telephone if you’d like.”

She surveyed the address. “Regents Park! My my, Leon.”

“It’s no Balham,” he joked.  “Listen, I’ve kept you too long.  Tell him we’re all praying for him, Mary and Evie and me, and I’ll stop by soon.”

“Grace is coming tomorrow,” she said.  “I’ll let you know if she’s all right seeing you.  She was a little upset by everything when I spoke to her yesterday, but she might be all right if you visit.”

“Yes, just let me know.  Send a telegram to the house.”  He pulled her into an embrace and she returned it, hugging her brother with all the love and pain that five years of separation had kept inside her. “Love you, sis.”

“You too,” she whispered.


	4. Reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbie has a chat with his night nurse.

_Early evening, Sunday, June 2nd, 1940_

“Cee?”

His voice was so scratchy and low that at first Cecilia thought she had imagined it when she arrived at his bedside that evening.  She had met one of Robbie’s nurses and they spoke quietly for a minute about his progress.  She sat as close to the edge of the bed as she dared, grateful she was able to take advantage of the darkened room to break a hallowed rule of hospital protocol.  The room was a little livelier than the first night she had been here; soldiers caught up on their sleep were beginning to feel restless.  It provided a little more privacy for their conversation.

She cupped a hand to his whiskery cheek. “It’s me, Robbie,” she whispered, stroking her thumb against his skin.  “I hear you’ve had a busy day.”

He let his face sink into her palm for a moment, then opened his eyes to look at her, heavy-lidded from morphine and exhaustion.

He had thought he had heard her from time to time, but by the time he found the energy to open his eyes, her voice had disappeared.  He would croak out for some water and some pleasant-enough nurse would oblige the first cup, but never the second.  He understood why when his stomach bubbled unhappily, the mixture of medicine and an empty stomach causing him to close his eyes and will himself back to sleep to avoid the nausea.  He lost track of how many times he heard her and missed her. What a cruel joke this dream was.

The room was dark, and he remembered it brighter from before.  It must be night.  He blinked and in the darkness as her silhouette, pale and pretty, reached over to hold his head as she guided a glass of water to his lips.  He drank and thought it only natural that he needn’t have asked, that she knew his very needs.

“More.”

“In a bit, love.  I don’t want you sick.” A washcloth appeared from outside his field of vision and wiped his face. He knew he was hot but he couldn’t help but shiver. The cloth was a refreshing mix of warm, with the cooling condensation being a soothing after effect. How luxurious this all was. How smooth her skin felt against his rough cheek.

She wasn’t speaking. He could barely keep his eyes open and he couldn’t read her expression. “ Say something,”  he whispered.

Her voice was choked with tears. “You came back.” She had been holding his hand over the covers, brought it to her mouth and kissed it. “Oh Robbie, you’re back.”

He thought about how wonderful this all was, and how improbable. “I’m dead.”

She sniffled and stared at him quizzically, shaking her head. “No, I don’t think so. Would you hurt so if you were dead?”

She had a point, so he tried again. “I’m dreaming.”

“You’ve horrid dreams.”

“I must be dreaming,” he said, his speech slurred and slow. “You’re here. But you work in a maternity ward.  I’m not in a maternity ward, am I?”

She laughed loudly, having forgot the argumentative aspect of Robbie’s personality.  In her nurse’s mind, she made note that he was lucid and logical. Perhaps the worst of the fever was over. Or, worse, perhaps this was just a reprieve that would lull them into a sense of safety. She did not plan to take chances.

She decided to indulge his confusion. “You’re at an EMS in Morden, just fifteen minutes from my flat in Balham.  I’ve charmed the ward sister to let me visit outside visiting hours.”

“What day is it?”

“It’s the second of June, almost nine o’clock in the evening. Sunday.”  She shifted from crouching above him to sitting on the bed with him, though she knew it was prohibited.  She still held his hand and stroked it as she spoke. “A friend of a friend recognized your name when she was taking care of you – can you imagine that?” She chuckled at the realization of how far their story had spread. “Apparently, my friends like to tell the story of a girl born to a rich family who becomes a nurse after they exile her lover for a crime he didn’t commit.” It was a comical version  of their situation she had conjured long ago, easily told to new audiences and less inclined to lead to further, detailed questions.

“I’ve had a busy day, too,” she continued.  “I was here two nights ago when you first arrived and didn’t get a wink of sleep all night.  Then I had the day off to recover and came back that night, too.  You had a rough time then – I think the infection got a little worse before it started to respond to the medicine. Then I worked today over at my hospital, even though I was a useless wreck, and came here to see you.  But you’ll never guess who I ran into on my way here last night.”

“Who?” he breathed, smiling at her proximity and happy conversation.  Minutes in her company could cure a thousand shrapnel wounds, he thought.

She paused and met his eyes.  “My brother Leon.”

This _was_ news.  He took a big breath and thought of a proper response.  It was exhausting to talk, but it seemed important to make sure things were all right. “Did you speak. To him?”

She laughed lightly.  “I almost didn’t.  But he was so concerned about you I thought I might want to hear what he had to say.  He had lots of news, as well.”  She thought of telling him about Paul Marshall but knew it would upset him, and she didn’t want to ruin their reunion.  “The biggest of which was that he married four years ago and has a little girl, and another on the way.”

Leon a married man. That sounded right to Robbie. “That’s wonderful.”

“Isn’t it?  He married Mary, the actress. I don’t remember much about her, but she seems sweet.  He said to tell you they’re all praying for you and thinking of you.”

“How nice.”  And it was, to know that she was repairing her relationships with her family. She seemed animated by this news, positively bubbling over with excitement over reuniting with her beloved brother.

“He might stop by tomorrow, but your mother’s taking the early train from Surrey to spend a few days with you while I work.  If it’s all right with you and her, I’ll tell him to pop in.”

“Yes,” he breathed, closing his eyes and weaving his fingers in with hers, clasping them to his chest.  He could still feel his wound, but it was a dull feeling of presence and not pain.  He imagined her touch to be a balm that spread throughout his whole body, restoring the tired cells and replenishing his energy.  Hospital or no hospital, this was a luxurious feeling.

“I’m wearing you out with all this talking,” she said, amused by his contentment.  “They’ll kick me out for sure.”

He licked his lips and she returned the water cup, wiping up after a trail of liquid missed his mouth.  He drank deeply and sighed.  “I could listen to you for years.”

 She laughed again-- what a sound!  “That sounds like a plan, but only if you talk back.”

He opened his eyes to look at her again, which was a struggle to do.  He understood he was going to sleep whether he wanted to or not.  “Yes.”

“Yes to what, dearest?”

“To that plan.” He was dizzy and his eyes watered, but the washcloth came back and she took care of that, too.

“You’re still very weak. You came here in rough shape. A couple hours more with that wound and …” Her voice trailed off, but she needn’t finish.  He understood.

He thought of his mental state at Dunkirk and figured she was right. How stupid he’d been, to fight the corporals about getting treatment. He wasn’t about to tell her that. Not right away, at least. The whole ordeal made him feel more exhausted than he thought he could be, and they sat quietly a few minutes more.

“You’re going to fall asleep,” she whispered into his ear.  “And they will make me leave soon.”

“But you’ll be back,” he stated.

“I will always come back,” she affirmed, kissing him lightly on the lips.  A dangerous gesture.  She leaned in closer and rested her forehead against his, continuing to touch his cheek and quivering hands, then kissed him again, deeply. “I love you, Robbie.”

“Cecilia,” he sighed, sleep winning over his other desires.  She sat up and watched for a moment the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, hands still entwined with his.  She couldn’t help but be clinical, and was thankful he neither rasped nor labored in his breath.  Septic wounds could kill fast, as she knew from her work, but she was beginning to gain confidence that Robbie would recovery soon.

“It’s nine fifteen, Miss Tallis,” a voice said gently behind her.  Cecilia didn’t know how long Sister Carruthers had been standing there observing them, but she swiftly rose from the bed, straightening the sheets around her lover, ready for a reprimand.

Sister Carruthers led her to the door, keeping a warm arm around her.  Cecilia sniffled as they made their way through the ward.  “He’s had a good day,” the matron said soothingly.  “There’s no need for tears.”

Cecilia nodded again, more as a reflex than in agreement.  The tears flowed harder.   There was more to explain that could be expressed, and she hoped the woman would understand her inability to make herself communicate.  “It’s been a long day,” she croaked helplessly.

“I’m sure,” said the nurse, patting her arm as she opened the door. “Until tomorrow, Miss Tallis.”

“Good-night, sister.”

 

 


	5. Amendments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon holds Jack accountable. Briony makes her statement.

_Monday, June 3rd, 1940_

The Ministry of Defense at Whitehall was a somber place full of workers dedicated to the security of the country.  Leon could count the number of times he had been to his father’s workplace on his hand.  Jack Tallis was a man consumed by his work not because he was good at it or that he liked it, though both of those things were true, but that it offered him a way to ignore his personal problems. 

Leon, who was typically not given to strong emotions, despised the place for that very reason.

He sat in his father’s office at quarter to seven on Monday morning, knowing that his father came in exactly at seven on the dot.  Leon had slept only three hours the previous night, finally dozing off around two and waking at five.  He’d had the weekend to round up a solicitor friend and make plans with Mary should she go into premature labor, and had called his superior at the bank to discuss an emergency leave of absence for the remainder of the week.

His plan was simple: strongarm his father into helping him clear Robbie’s name.

The door opened and his father rushed in, followed closely by his secretary, who was already filling him in on the day’s activity.  They chatted, oblivious to Leon’s presence, until he greeted them with, “Good morning, Jack.”

The secretary yelped and Jack Tallis whirled around, a stern look of warning on his face that quickly turned to concern.

“Why don’t you sit down?  We’ve a situation to discuss.”

“Leon.  You ought have called.  Is it your mother?”

“No, it’s not about Emily.  It’s Cecilia.”

Jack froze in place for a moment then turned to his secretary.  “Would you leave us for a moment, dear?“ The mousy woman quickly made her way to the door, which she closed with a thud.

“What about Cecilia?” Jack asked tersely.

“Robbie Turner’s at a hospital in Morden.  He’s got a septic wound and is in rough shape.  Someone saw Cecilia there after a visit, and now word’s spreading around town.” Jack had picked up a folder and was rifling through its contents while Leon spoke, but the weight of his son’s words sank in and the folder slipped gently from his hands and onto his desk.  “I spoke to her Friday night.”

Jack paused again.  Not looking up, he asked, “Was she civil?”

“Surprisingly so, though I think she was in shock.  She feels our whole family owes Robbie an apology for not sticking up for him.  I think she means you and me, particularly.” Jack’s face was impassive, so Leon continued.  “I’m going to the hospital this afternoon to do just that – plead him for forgiveness, which I have no right to ask for, much less receive.  Briony’s been in touch with her, too.”

“Briony?  What did that foolish child have in mind contacting Cecilia?”

“She wants to recant her testimony,” Leon said. “I’m going over to St. Thomas’s this morning and taking her to a solicitor friend of mine so she can make an official statement.”

Jack sighed deeply.  “It’s long overdue.”

Leon paused and looked at his father, eyes narrowing. “So you knew this whole time?”

“I…” Jack began, drumming his fingers and avoiding Leon’s gaze.  He knew it would be difficult to explain his reasons why he had preferred to disappear into the shadows of Whitehall rather than defend a man who had been as good as a son to him.  “I believed Briony at first, against my better judgment and against what I knew to be true about Robbie.  She was persuasive and your mother was… relentless.  And with the war drumming up…”

“Unbelievable.”

Jack looked up sharply at his son. “Briony gave the evidence, the case was closed, and then his appeal was denied.  What was I to do?”

“You could have called off Emily, for one.  You know she didn’t let Briony talk about it afterwards.”

“You’ve got plenty of ideas for someone who kept quiet,” his father retorted.

“I didn’t realize I’d been wrong until after Evie was born,” Leon said tersely. “The evidence, if you could call it that, was slow to come but it mounted over time.”

“So you know who it was?”

“Of course.  Don’t you?”

“I have a hunch, and it’s not Danny Hardman,” his father replied.

The two men were silent for a moment, but for the ringing of telephones and bustling of the Ministry outside Jack’s door.

“We can’t go after him,” Jack said after a bit.  “He’ll be as a good as family come Saturday.”

Leon had taken advantage of the silence to let his heavy eyes rest.  He jerked up sleepily. “What do you mean?”

“Paul Marshall marries your cousin Lola this Saturday.  We weren’t invited, of course.  It’s a low-key affair.”

Leon gaped, then shook his head.  “Unbelievable.”

“You hadn’t heard?”

“I’d heard about other girls he’d violated.  I assumed Lola was just another notch in the post.  I didn’t think they’d… marry, honestly?  How long has that been going on?”

“Long enough.  Apparently Marshall befriended your aunt Hermione not long after the trial finished, sometime in ’36. Offered to do what he could for the family, he felt so bad they’d taken such a turn. Of course, her marriage imploded for good later that year.  I think many assumed he was courting the mother, not the daughter.”

Leon stared at his father in disbelief.  “I don’t know what to say about any of that.”

Jack shrugged his indifference.  “What could you say? The man’s tenacious in court. You’re a fool to think it would work.”

He took his chance. “Getting the case opened up is a start. I suppose we’ll have to be tricky to not ruffle Marshall’s feathers. I don’t think we’d get anywhere if he caught wind of it.”

“Leon, I don’t have time to go around sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. What’s done is done.”

“Briony’s all but admitted that she lied. That’s most of the evidence from the trial.  If what she said is a lie, everything else is circumstantial. It won’t hold up.  Robbie could be cleared on false grounds, insufficient evidence.  No one has to even breathe Paul Marshall’s name – he was never a suspect.  Jack, I don’t care _how_ it happens so long as it does.”

“So Briony gives a new statement,” Jack reasoned. “What happens after that?”

“You’ll need to find a judge who will reopen the case.”

“Me, eh?  What makes you think I’ll do that?”

“Who do you miss more – Cee or Robbie?”

Jack frowned at his only son, annoyed by the convergence of family and deep emotion. It was so much easier to forget he had a daughter and that at one point he cared about another man’s son so much he’d given up on his own children.  The knowledge that things might be remedied between all parties felt heady but improbable. “I can’t leave my work.”

“I think England can spare you a few days so your family doesn’t completely evaporate. You’re not Churchill, for God’s sake.”

Jack rose from his seat and strode to a window, gazing out into the dull morning light.  “To open the case we’ll need new evidence.”

“Yes, I know.  Any thoughts?”

“Two, in fact,” Jack offered. “But leave that to me.  The best Briony can do is clear Robbie’s name. That doesn’t leave much justice for your cousin, but…”

“Is she really marrying him?” Leon asked in disbelief.

“Saturday at 10 a.m.” Jack nodded. “So, you’re collecting Briony today?”

“Tomorrow. I’ve telephoned my friend Bruce to take her new testimony, and that's when he's available.  I can make sure the statement’s copied and sent to you.”

“Do.  I’ll see what I can do on my end to slip this in to court without someone from the paper catching wind of it.”

“Excellent,” Leon said, scarcely believing that his father was conspiring willingly. He rose to leave. “I’ll be in touch, then.”

“Yes, of course.” Jack turned back to his son. “You said he’s in rough shape -- Robbie? ”

Leon caught the look in his father’s eye and remembered all too well how poorly his father hid his favoritism. He was guilty for dismissing Robbie on the false hope that it would restore Jack’s faith in himself – why else reject his offers to find him a ministry position?  Leon wanted to strike out on his own.  And now, five years after so much bitterness had separated them all, here was Jack, voice quivering as he inquired about the charlady’s son.

“A shrapnel wound in his torso got infected.  Cee told me it could be worse but blood poisoning can be tricky to cure.  He was still drugged and running a fever on Friday, but she seemed optimistic enough then.”

“And you saw him?”

“No,” Leon admitted. “I had to get home to Mary. I ambushed her in Morden early in the evening – she’s got special permission to visit him after hours because she’s working days at a maternity home.”  
  
“And she’ll be there this evening?”

“Yes.  Grace was to arrive this morning to be there during normal visiting hours.” He cocked his head toward his father, trying to decipher what Jack was trying to say. “Would you like to go over there to see him?”

Jack nodded slowly. “I think so.  Can Mary spare you another night?”

“Better now than later in the month.” Jack stared at him quizzically.  Leon sighed and explained. “She’s expecting again, you know,”

“Oh yes,” Jack nodded, feigning the memory. “Now I remember.”

“Good,” Leon said tentatively. “Though you’ll have to go through Cee first. She’s quite protective of him.”

“Good. That’s my good girl,” Jack echoed back.  Leon wondered if it was tears he saw in the corner of his father’s eyes.  He cleared his throat and blinked towards his son. “Shall we meet again on Wednesday, around two?”

“Yes,” Leon affirmed. “I should be able to complete what I need to do.”

“Until then.”

* * *

_The next day_

Hospitals were downright peculiar places to have reunions, and Leon felt he was beginning to link the smell of carbolic soap with his various family members.  St. Thomas’s Hospital was bustling with activity – soldiers were quartered in all corners of the grand flagship of England’s medical world, and nurses flew expertly around them.

His request to retrieve his sister had been transferred back and forth up the hierarchy of nurses that Leon began to feel quite sheepish he was intruding on so many people’s day.

“Yes? What is it you want?” A stern woman glided up to Leon, her apron dotted with various red and brown stains.  Leon tried not to stare at the flecks as he stammered out his request.

“Terribly sorry.  I need to collect my sister, who’s one of your probationers.  Miss Briony Tallis. I hope you won’t mind; it’s a family emergency.”  The matron’s mouth opened in protest, but Leon sealed Briony’s fate that morning by continuing. “And a legal matter, I’m afraid.  She’s expected at a solicitor’s office in half an hour.”

Another flurry of voices went up around him as the young woman was summoned.  She appeared and looked no better than Cecilia had the night before – eyes heavy with exhaustion, her dark hair brushed but hastily pulled back into her nurse’s cap.  She brightened when she saw her brother. “Leon!”

He was genuinely glad to see her and didn’t even mind when she pressed her soiled uniformed self to him in a hug. “What are you doing here?  Is everyone well?  What about Mary and the baby? The bank?”

“It’s been a strange week, lil’ sis,” he said wearily. “I need to borrow you for the morning.”

Briony looked over her shoulder to the ward sister, who nodded her consent. “I’ll be right back. I’ll need to change out of my uniform.”

Leon did his best to be out of the way amidst the daily round and tough work of mending bodies. Briony reappeared, out of her uniform but in a simpler dress, accompanied by her nurse’s cape. “Excellent,” he said when he saw her. “That will help your credibility.”

Briony’s brow furrowed as she tried to surmise his plan.  “My credibility for what?”

He held up his hand to shush her. “There isn’t much time. Robbie Turner is at a hospital here in London. He was injured in the retreat and his wound was badly infected.”

Her mind raced. “Tetanus? Septicemia? Poison gas?”

She was still the most curious of people he had ever known, and he realized she was turning this into a story even as they spoke. “A septic wound, I’m afraid. Cecilia’s with him.”

This confused Briony further. “But she works at a maternity ward. The lady at administration said so.”

They were getting off topic and it irked him. “Briony, I’ve spoken to her.  You said you wanted to change your evidence. I need you to be truthful, as we haven’t got much time.”

 “Time for what?”

“To clear Robbie’s name.”

She stopped in her tracks.  “You knew I was lying. That it wasn’t Robbie who assaulted Lola.”

He turned back and faced her.  She looked mortified.  “Yes.”

“For how long?!” she cried. He didn’t answer immediately, which did the speaking for him. “And you could not persuade Emily to let me change my statement?  I must have asked five or six times before returning to boarding school that fall.  Daddy wouldn’t stop her either.”

He held up his hand. “I didn’t realize it til years after. But one name will set this in motion. Tell me right now, Briony, who assaulted our cousin, and we’ll work on how to prove it to the judges.”

“Paul Marshall,” she blurted, as if it had been on the tip of her tongue for five years. Internally his mind immediately was put at ease. She wasn’t lying. “I wondered if you knew about him.  He’s marrying Lola this Saturday.  Jack wrote me about it.”

He laughed at her naïveté. “You were going to go? And do what, speak up during the ceremony?” Her cheeks reddened and she glared at him and he momentarily regretted his mockery. “Then it’s settled. We should be able to get the paperwork in order in the next few days.  We need to be quiet about it, though.  Marshall’s got ears everywhere.”

“And Cecilia? Does she know what we’re up to?”

“Mostly.”

* * *

Her statement had gone over well. At least, she hadn’t broken her composure and Leon’s friend Bruce, the solicitor, had been a kind man who had followed up with only a few pressing, embarrassing details.  A secretary alongside him hadn’t stopped taking notes and only occasionally lifted her head to look at her.  Leon stood outside the door to ensure that Briony spoke her mind.

“Just a few more questions, Miss Tallis, and we’ll send you on your way. You sent this letter to your sister, Miss Cecilia Tallis, a month ago?”

“That’s correct.”

“You did not think to tell her – or anyone else – any sooner?”

“My mother dissuaded me from talking about the subject entirely, and Cecilia hasn’t been in touch with the family directly since the year of the trial.”

“No contact whatsoever?”

“She writes through Robbie’s mother. We didn’t have her direct address for some time.” 

“And how did you come by it?”

“Currently we are both nurses in the same hospital system.  I was able to inquire with our directory.”

“How long have you been studying nursing?”

“A little over nine months.”

“And your sister?”

“I imagine she’s just finished her four years of training, but I wouldn’t know for sure.”

“Have you worked with or seen her in a professional setting?”

“No, sir.”

“And you were not afraid of confronting her, given that possibility?”

The truth of the matter was that Briony hoped daily that her sister would materialize before her, and that a tearful reunion would ensue right there on a floor of St. Thomas’s. It hadn’t occurred to her to fear the possibility of Cecilia being angry. “No, it hadn’t occurred to me,” she lied.

The secretary  nodded gravely behind her fountain pen and notebook. A grandfather clocked chimed noon, breaking the silence of scribbling pens.

“I think that’s all we have for you, Miss Tallis. Thank you for coming forward with this information. Best of luck in your studies.”

“Thank you,” she replied, swiftly leaving the room. 

Now the waiting began. Would it be enough to reopen the case?  She couldn’t know for sure.  She stepped out to the waiting area, where Leon dozed.  He started and said with a weary smile.  “Between this war, my wife, and that sister of ours, I can’t sleep at night.  I find myself napping at a moment’s notice.  Did you finish?”

“Yes, I’ve been dismissed.  Leon, I’m so sorry this is happening right now.  Are you sure we should be doing this, without talking to anyone else yet?”

Leon considered this for a moment, then looked to his youngest sister. Her eyes were large and  imploring. Briony had grown up significantly in the past five years, despite Emily’s best efforts to keep her youngest to herself. What was more significant was that she had done so largely on her own – Leon shifted his devotion to his new family and Jack spent his days planning the war in Whitehall. “If we’re being frank, it’s horrible timing. But you did the right thing in speaking up, Briony. Let’s just hope a judge agrees.”

“Is that what comes next?”

“I have a friend who does criminal lawyering and owes me a favor – he’s going to present the new evidence on behalf of the plaintiff, whose side you were part of. It ought to be a stronger argument than coming from the defendant’s side.”

Briony didn’t miss a beat. “But that would mean they need a revised statement from Lola! Lola was the plaintiff; I was just a witness.”

“Leave that to him. I think we’ve got it figured out.  Shall we stop for a bite to eat before I take you back to the hospital.”

“Let’s make it a long bite,” she sighed.

He caught her wistful tone and was surprised at it. “Not in a hurry to get back? I thought you liked it there.”

She shook her head. “I’m just tired, that’s all. It was nice to have a day off in the thick of it.”

Leon felt a momentary surge of sympathy for his little sister, whose days were filled with such grueling tasks that fessing up to the biggest lie she had ever told was, in comparison, rather relaxing.  He pulled her in for a squeeze.  “I suppose we can stay out just a bit longer…”

Briony offered him a tired smile and returned the hug, happy that at least one member of her family wasn’t unspeakably angry with her. It was, in the very least, a start.


	6. Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack stirs the pot by bringing in the Quincey twins, who have plenty to say. Briony intercepts something that's not hers.

_Tuesday afternoon, June 4th, 1940_

“We will now take statements from two new witnesses, Pierrot Quincey and his brother, Jackson Quincey, brothers of the plaintiff.”

* * *

It had been a bold move to arrive at his sister-in-law’s and collect his nephews. Jack knew he had to be quick and cunning to evade his true reasons for visiting.

His wife’s sister descended up on the parlor where he waited, wearing a strained smile. There had been tension between the Quinceys and Tallises ever since the ill-fated day in 1935, when the Quincey children under Tallis care had managed to go missing or be assaulted. There had never been much love either between the two sisters, and Hermione bore a particular disdain for Jack.

“Jack, how unexpected.  I hate to be blunt, but we’re running a tight schedule these days. You know Lola’s to marry Mr. Marshall come Saturday. The household’s all a mess. I simply don’t have time to entertain.”  She gestured to the corner, where a seamstress was putting the finishing touches on Lola’s wedding dress.

“No worries,” Jack replied pleasantly.  “I’m here on Ministry business. I was wondering if you might lend me your boys for the afternoon.  They’re shooting propaganda materials for rationing and wanted a set of twins and I thought I knew just the pair.”

Hermione had a weakness for fame and Jack knew this hit her in just the right way.  It wouldn’t matter if the supposed advertisements never saw the light of day – the fact that Hermione could boast about her sons’ involvement in Ministry war efforts was a credit enough.

The look on Hermione’s face was quizzical as she tried to think of a way out of it. “I do apologize for the timing, but war doesn’t stop to check its schedule.”

“Really Jack, two days before their sister’s wedding?”

“You did just say yell at us to stay upstairs and not get in anyone’s way,” a voice boomed from the staircase.  Jackson was as freckled and impish as ever, and his voice had deepened to match his tall frame.  A voice trailed from upstairs – Pierrot was around, too.

“They’ll be back in time for dinner, no one the wiser and there’ll be four fewer feet for you to fret about as you prepare.” Jack promised, smiling up at his godson. Jackson wiggled his eyebrows mischievously.

“Oh fine,” Hermione conceded, not wanting a fight, and Jackson shot back upstairs to deliver the news to his twin.  They bounded back down minutes later and they followed Jack out to where his ministry vehicle was waiting.  Inside, he wasted no time.

“Boys, I’m not above bribery.” He held up a 10 pound note from his wallet. “There’s one of these for each of you if you do me a rather large favor, and not breathe a word of it to your mother or sister…”

* * *

The two freckled faces stared bemusedly at the line of men taking notes in Jack’s London study.  Their uncle had ushered them in and left immediately, closing the ornate hardwood doors with a gavel-like slam.

“For the record, state your names and ages.”

“Jackson Cecil Quincey, age thirteen.”

“Pierrot Roger Quincey, age thirteen and two minutes.” Several pairs of eyes shot to the red-headed boy to the right. “I’m older,” he explained.

The questioner ignored his addendum and continued. “We’re here today to discuss the events that took place here the night of 21 June 1935, while the both of you and your sister were being care for by your aunt, Emily Tallis. Do you remember this time?”

Both young men confirmed their memory.

“Your ages at the time?”

“Eight,” they said in unison.

“And two minutes,” Pierrot added.

“Quite right,” said the chief investigator. “Now, are we correct in assessing that the both of you witnessed the same events simultaneously? That you were always by one another’s side?”

“We-ell,” Pierrot said. “That’s mostly true, I suppose.”

“Mostly?”

“Jackson finished his bath first that night, and went back to the nursery before me.”

“And you followed shortly after.”

“That’s correct.”

“What happened afterwards?”

“We had dinner, and then we decided to run away,” Jackson replied.

“Is that correct?”

“Yes,” they said together.

“We have the note you left for your family that night. Do you recall what you wrote?”

The twins looked at each other and paused. “I  think so.  Pierrot did the writing.”

“Pierrot, do you remember what you wrote?”

The boy tapped his feet as he searched his brain. “We were mad about being left at this house. We didn’t like the housekeeper, because she didn’t like us. But mostly we were made at Lola.”

“Ahh, excellent. Do you recall what Lola did to make you want to leave?”

“She said if we told on her, she would make it so no one would ever believe us again.”

Several of the men at the table looked up, including Bruce Roberts, Leon’s solicitor friend.

“Believe you about what?”

“That I found her with Paul Marshall in the nursery.”

The room became very quiet for a moment, until the record keeper spoke up. “I apologize – I’m having a frightful time keeping up. Which of you said that?”

“Jackson,” the two replied.

“Jackson, who finished with his bath and returned to the nursery first that night?”

“That’s right.”

“And what…why was your sister angry with you?”

“Because I threatened to tell about the way she was acting with him.”

“With who?”

“Paul Marshall,” Jackson repeated.

“How was she acting?” While his brother spoke, Pierrot noted that the line of men before him seemed dumbfounded at this new information.

“She was sitting –no, she was pinned to the bed by Mr. Marshall, who had her wrists in his.”

“Was she speaking?”

“No, she wasn’t.”

“Was he?”

“I think so, but I couldn’t hear him at the time. He left the moment he saw me.”

“That’s it? For the record, you state that Mr. Marshall had your sister pinned to the bed.”

“Yes. And his free hand was up her skirt. She was dressed for dinner.”

The silence continued, when finally someone mustered another question. “Please continue, Mr. Quincey. What happened after Mr. Marshall left the nursery.”

“Pierrot came back from the bath and Lola started to yell and slap both of us, saying that we ruined everything and if we told a soul, she would dip our hands in warm water at night.”

“I’m sorry, did I hear your correctly? ‘Dip our hands in warm water…’”

Pierrot blushed to the roots of his hair. “I used to wet the bed when I was younger.”

One of the men spoke up. “Why target you if your brother was the one who saw her?”

“She couldn’t tell which one of us it was,” Jackson explained.

The chief examiner  nodded. “Please continue. And after that?”

“We wrote a note and left, right before dinner.”

“Do you remember at what time you left?”

“No, sir,” they both replied.

“The sun had gone down, but it was still a little light, because it was close to Midsummer,” Pierrot pointed out.

“And where did you go?”

“Down the path and along the cow pasture for some ways.”

 “Is that where Mr. Turner found the two of you that night?”

“Right-o,” said Jackson.

“And do you remember what he said to you?”

“Well, first he had to wake us up. We’d fallen asleep.”

“And then?”

“He took turns carrying us back to the house.”

“The whole way?”

 “Yessir. Almost a whole kilometer,” Pierrot said.

“It took a while, sir,” Jackson added.  “If it wasn’t me being carried, I’d stop and cry until we had enough rest to move on. That man had the patience of a saint.”

“Which man?”

“Why, Turner, of course! He didn’t even yell at us, just egged us on back.”

“And that’s all the both of you remember.”

“We came back to the house and saw the police vehicles. Got put to bed right after that.”

“That’s it?” the investigator asked.

“’Fraid so, sir.”

“Thank you, boys,” the investigator said. “That’ll be all.”

The record keeper caught the investigator’s eye and shrugged, putting his notebook back in his jacket pocket. “Sounds like your day just got much longer.”

* * *

True to his word, Jack arrived back at Clapham Common with his nephews at half past four.  He handed them each the promised reward.

“You did a good job today, boys.  Now don’t breathe a word of these to anyone, at least not until the case opens up again.”

“Won’t they know it was us when that happens?”

“Maybe, maybe not.  Let me deal with the blowback. Now you have a good time this weekend at the wedding…”

Jackson’s eyes rolled severely while Pierrot stifled a laugh.

“And remember, don’t say a word!”

* * *

“Leon, no.”

Briony wondered where they were headed after they have finished a long lunch at Leon’s, entertaining Mary for the better part of two hours.  They had driven right past the hospital and continued into south London, until suddenly she realized they were in Balham.  Leon had pulled up to the curb of 43 Dudley Vilas – a remarkable feat, as the street in front of the flat where Cecilia lived hadn’t widened since the streets had been laid out in the late nineteenth century.

“Briony, it has to happen sometime. Think of how relieved she’ll be to hear that you’ve amended your statement. I wasn’t even sure that was possible, and now it’s done.”

“She’ll be angry.”

“Maybe.”

“Leon, think reasonably, because she certainly won’t. We need at least one of us to be in our right mind.”

“Can you blame her? We’ve done a terrible slight to both her and Robbie. I tried doing this years ago…”

“Apologizing?”

 “Yes, and she wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Well, she’s apologized to you now.  But that was you and this is about me.  What in the world makes you think she’d change her mind now?”

 “Vulnerability?” he offered, as his sister groaned into her seat. “Come, let’s be quick. Just try today.  If it doesn’t work you can try later. Besides, she might not even be here yet.  Her shift ended at four. That way I’ll just pay her rent…”

“What for?”

“Well, from the looks of things, she could use the help. This is definitely dodgy. Don’t nurses usually live together, to save money?”

“I wouldn’t know just yet. Probationers don’t have a lot of time to talk to other nurses off duty.”

“Let’s go,” he said decisively.  Within seconds he was halfway up the walkway, leaving Briony to scramble behind him.  The sounds and smells of the neighborhood overwhelmed her – the rich smell of wet earth from dozens of gardens being turned over mixed with compost.  Someone’s wireless barked loudly from an open window, but tellingly there was no chorus of laughter from young children. They’d all been sent away from the city.

From inside the ground floor of 43 Dudley Vilas, a woman caught sight of them and came to the door. Leon, dressed for a day at the bank, and Briony, her nurse’s cape billowing behind her, made for a less-than usual sight at her front door.

Bobbing, she gave a curtsy and asked, “Can I help you, sir?”

Leon nodded and composed himself. “Yes, thank you. We’re looking for Miss Cecilia Tallis, who we believe lives upstairs. Is she in?”

The woman sighed as she looked them over again. “You from the bank? She owe you money? I expected no good from that girl.”  

Her nerves getting the better of her, Briony stifled a giggle that was silenced by a stern look from Leon. “She’s our sister. We would like to speak with her. Will you please let her know we are here?”

“She’s not in, but I can let you upstairs. I don’t keep her schedule. “She led them in and they followed her up a creaking staircase that Briony felt might give out from under them at any second.  The woman pounded on the door of the room upstairs, barking out, “Tallis! You in? Guests!” There was no answer.

“She’s been a queer one this week. Been in and out all the time, and not even working nights this month.  I’ve half a mind to throw ‘er out.  She keeps bringing this woman around. Older. Not ‘er mother or nothin’, but comes and goes as she pleases. They’re a pair, I tell you. Well, make yourself at home.” She unlocked the door and motioned for Leon to go in, Briony following after. She waited until after the door closed to pepper Leon with questions.

“What was that about? An old woman, coming home with her?”

“That’s Grace she’s talking about. She’s up from Surrey to sit with Robbie.  Apparently she stays with Cecilia when she comes to town.”

“Oh.”

They crept about the small flat, Leon stooping to avoid hitting his head against the sloped ceiling. Briony wandered automatically to where a small, built-in bookcase kept Cecilia’s anatomy books and novels. A tin with a one quid note sticking out acted as a bookend on one shelf, and another was filled with photographs of Cecilia with groups of people Briony didn’t recognize. This startled her and she turned to her brother. “I don’t know if I should be here.”

“We shouldn’t.”

“What are you hoping happens? That she comes home and we all talk it out over a cuppa?”

Leon stared at his sister, momentarily aghast that she would be so terse, when a voice bellowed from below.

“Tallises! Door!”

“I’ll get it,” Briony volunteered, and she went down the stairs, intentionally taking them by twos in order not to tax her weight against its stability. She looked up to find the landlady looking vaguely enraged, and a uniformed man standing meekly at the door, package in hand.

The landlady sized the two of them up. “I’ll leave you be,” she said, moving to the next room, door closing behind her.

“Miss Tallis?” the man said, removing his cap and bobbing.

“Yes?” Briony replied, confused.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much other news than this, but I wanted to make sure these got back to you.” He thrust the clumsily wrapped packaged into her hands. “He kep’ ‘em safe over there. Got ‘im through the toughest parts, I’d say. It does a man good to know he’s got someone waitin’ for ‘im back home.”

Briony unwrapped a side of the package to expose the top of a letter, dirt-stained and well-worn, addressed to _Pvt. Robert Turner_ in her sister’s handwriting. “Oh my,” Briony breathed. “These are…these are…”

“Your love letters, yes!” The man supplied eagerly. “I helped get the poor chap on the little boats, which got us to the rescue ships over across the channel. Kep’ with ‘im til Dover, and then ‘e got sent on the train into town. I got nine days leave myself,  but figured I owed it to him to get these back to you. He’s a proper chap, Turner. Bushwhacked through the Jerries to get us to the coast. You ‘eard from him?”

Briony had barely taken her eyes off the parcel in her hand, her mind reeling at what was inside those precious pages. “What? Oh yes, he’s at the hospital recovering. My sister’s with him.”

This confused the soldier, but he said nothing. “Well, when he comes round, let ‘im know that Corporal Nettle didn’t forget ‘im. Can you do that?”

Briony barely managed to make her tongue work in time. “Of course.  I mean…thank you.” She tried to muster the emotion Cecilia would have at seeing her letters to Robbie again. “Thank you so much, Corporal Nettle. It’s most kind.”

Corporal Nettle bobbed his head again and left down the path, disappearing off into the day. Briony stood at the threshold for what seemed like countless minutes, her mind reeling at her find.

“Close the door! I work hard enough to clean the dust out as it is!” Awakened from her daydream by her sister’s pernicious landlady, Briony stuffed the letters absent-mindedly inside the pocket of her coat and turned toward the staircase, where Leon came bounding down .

“My apologies, ma’am.  Looks like we’re heading off,” she said in a daze. “Thank you ever so kindly for your hospitality.” She closed the door behind her and followed Leon down the path, feeling like she was floating.

“Who was it?” Leon asked.

“Who?”

“At the door just a few minutes ago. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Oh! That.” Briony’s mind reeled for a quick answer. “Just a friend of hers, asking after Robbie. I lied a little bit – I said he was doing fine. “ She paused and looked toward the sky.  “Oh God, I hope he’s doing all right.”

“That’s not up to us right now, sis,” Leon said hurriedly, opening the car door for her.

“Isn’t it?” she replied thickly. “Oh Leon, I’m so tired of all this.”

“It’ll be over soon,” he promised.

“Except that it won’t.”

“Precisely,” he said, ushering her in and closing the door. “Now we’ve got to fly if we’re to catch her.”

“Who?”

“Cecilia. Her shift schedule was upstairs.  She works a few blocks away.  If we hurry, we’ll get her right at the end and give her a lift down to Morden.”

* * *

They sat parked in front of the maternity home.  “Now keep your eyes open for her. I don’t want to miss her.”

“I still don’t understand what you plan to do.”

“That’s fine. You don’t have to.”

“But you want me here for it.”

“I want my sisters to be reconciled,” Leon said forcefully. “I am tired of my family being scattered to all four winds.” The authoritarian air he hoped to instill over his sister silenced her for a moment.

“I suppose I’m the east wind, then,“ Briony mused.

“What?”

“The east wind brought the plagues to Egypt. Emily’s the north wind, obviously. Between Cecilia and Daddy I couldn’t guess who makes a better zephyr. And in Sir Conan Doyle’s, _The Last Bow,_ Sherlock says to Watson…”

“Cambridge,” Leon said wearily.

“What?”

“You really ought to have gone up at Cambridge. Cee wilted there. You would flourish.”

This comment made Briony feel warm in a way that she hadn’t for many months, given fuel to a fire she’d felt since she’d barely passed her entrance examinations for her probationer year. “Do you really think so?”

“I can’t see how you can concentrate on mending people when you’re mind is so full of stories.”

“It’s hard,” she admitted.  A calmer quiet came over the car for a few moments as they sat and waited. “What time was she going to be done?”

“Four.”

“What time is it now?”

 “Quarter after. Do you think we missed her?”

 “No. She’s probably changing and scrubbing down for the day. You do that on your own time.”

Several more minutes passed as Leon drummed his thumbs nervously against the steering wheel. Briony was lulled into a near doze when Leon started. “There she is!” He got out of the car and ran toward a young woman in a green pea coat, who indeed, stopped in her tracks at the sight of her brother.

Tentatively, Briony got out of the car and willed her legs to move towards her brother and sister. Cecilia had turned to leave, but Leon had caught her hand in his and was speaking imploringly. Cecilia looked like she might cry and did not see Briony quietly approach the two of them.

“Cee, please. I know it’s been a long day for you…”

“Leon. All I want is to go home and cry in my bed for the rest of the night.” Her voice was thick and full of emotion. Her eyes wandered past him and glimpsed Briony. “Oh God. Leon, no.”

“You can’t ignore each other forever.”

 “I’m not asking forever. I’m asking that we not do this _today._ ” Cecilia put her head in her hands and gently massaged her temples. “I’m at my limit, I really am.”

“Leon, I was just coming to say that I’m going.” Briony’s voice was stilted, and louder than she intended.  She saw the bus stop and took her chance. “I’ll take the bus back to the hospital.”

“Wait, no. Briony!” He grabbed towards his youngest sister, but she was already marching towards the  bench.  

“I can’t, Leon. I told you,” she called out over her shoulder.

“It’ll take forever to get to London!” he yelled after her.

“It’s all right!” she yelled back.

“Briony!”

Frazzled and overwhelmed, Briony turned to face her siblings. “It’s as she says, Leon. Not today!”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Leon found himself staring at Cecilia over a cup of tea at a shop not far from the maternity home. She had consented to talk, but since arriving, she had done nothing but stir her tea absent-mindedly.

“Should I be worried about Briony? I told the matron I’d see her back myself.” Leon was full of a nervous energy, eager to set things straight with his sister but understanding that he might be asking for too much at once.

Evenly, she replied, “It will take her almost two hours, I think, but she’ll arrived in one piece, particularly when she realizes she took the bus in the wrong direction.” Finally, Cecilia took a sip of her tea.

“Cee…” he began to reprimand. Her cool gaze met his and he dropped the subject. He motioned to her tea. “That can’t be warm.”

“It’s fine,” she replied, putting it down and looking across at him. “So. Out with it. What have you been up to.”

“Tell me how Robbie is,” he said.

“Oh! Now you’re worried!”

“Cee, please,” he begged.

“He’s had a rough few days. We thought his fever was coming round, but it wasn’t. They spent all of yesterday day trying to bring it down.  Two nights ago he was lucid. Today…” It sounded like a hiccup but he knew better. He reached across the table to stroke her arm as she cried into her other hand. “But he’s here,” she sniffed. “He’s still got a chance.”

“That’s good,” Leon agreed. “I’m glad you could take care of him. And Grace, too?”

“She came by earlier but got a bit overwhelmed. Spent the day in the chapel. I think she went back to my flat.”

 “She wasn’t there around three,” Leon confirmed.

“What?”

“Oh, we…” He caught himself in a sheepish situation. “Briony and I stopped by, hoping to catch you.”

She blinked evenly across the table. “The old hag let you in?”

He nodded. “She’s atrocious. However did you find that hovel?”

 “Desperation,” she replied, taking another sip. “I’m glad you vexed her, really. I’ve been meaning to look for something new.” She sighed again and leaned back in her chair. “I was surprised to see you, I won’t lie. And I’m curious as to what went on today. But I have conditions. I’ll need you to make a full apology to Robbie when he comes around.”

“I’m ready to do that. And to you. I should have never doubted you, even though you were wrong about Hardman.”

“So I’ve heard. Is that what happened today? Did she really amend her statement?”

“She did. And the old man brought in the twins.”

This caught her off guard. “What on earth for?”

“To make a statement.”

Cee’s eyes flashed with an unknown emotion – rage or excitement being the top candidates. “Oh my.”

“Yes, it’s true. I don’t know how Jack talked Hermione into it, but something tells me he didn’t tell the whole truth.”

“My God.” She fumbled around her purse for something, coming up short. “Please tell me you have a fag. I’m dying here.”  He obliged and lit her a cigarette, which she inhaled gratefully. “I can’t  imagine how Aunt Hermione would feel if she knew. Emily, too.”

“Don’t worry about our mother.  Whatever wounds she’s dealing with are beyond you and Robbie.  I’m afraid she’s just chosen to take them out on you.”  Cecilia had no response for him, so he continued on. I sent out a message to some of my friends who practiced criminal law, seeing if they had any time on their hands to do some last-minute defending.  One did, as it turns out, and he owes me a favor.  So we’re petitioning a judge later tomorrow, and hopefully we’ll get everything straightened out before the weekend.”

Cecilia’s eyes widened as this sunk in. “You’re doing this for Robbie?”

“Of course. It’s the least we could do for… for getting him there in the first place. I don’t know how I’ve lived with myself knowing the horrors he must have seen..”

“Let’s not talk about that right now. Tell me more about today. Why rush to get it done before the weekend?”

Leon was careful to keep his voice calm. “Lola marries Paul Marshall on Saturday.”

Cecilia sank back in her seat in shock. “What?”

“Yes, it’s true. It’s been in the making for some time.”

“She’ll be immune.”

“From testifying against him, yes.”

“We’re doomed.”

“Not yet. We’re so close, Cecilia! Don’t give up just yet.”

He took her hands into his, but it was no use. She was near tears. “I’ve waited, and saved, and waited some more, for _five_ miserable years…”

 “Cee…”

“Only for everyone to come to their senses _too late._ ”

He had nothing to reply to that.

“Why didn’t you do anything?” she whispered. “One word of doubt from you could have changed it all.”

“I know,” he replied miserably. “Trust me, now I know. And I’m sorry, Cee, I’m so sorry.”

She wept for a few minutes and he let her, stroking her hand as he held it across the table.

“Things happen when they do for a reason,” he stated soothingly. “I just hope it’s enough, and not too late.  But you know, you’re a lot alike, you and Briony.  I can’t tell you how much this has eaten at her.”

She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “Don’t say that. Don’t push me anymore today.”

“It’s true, sis.” He cupped her chin in his hand and wiped away a stray tear. “But we’ll work on all that later. Now let’s get you home. Tomorrow’s another long day. And say! I need to have you over sometime soon. I’ve got important people for you to meet.  I can’t wait to introduce my newest child to its Aunt Cecilia.”

 “Oh Leon!” She threw her arms around him and wept. “Oh, Leon, how _happy_. That’s the only thing I’ve missed these years.”

“The only thing?” he teased, but squeezed her hard in return. “I missed you, too, Sis-celia. I missed you, too.”

 


	7. A new chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbie muses about recovering and the new chapter he's been given in life. Grace and Cecilia catch their breath after a long week. Leon's life gets vastly more complicated.

_Friday, June 7 th, 1940_

Recovery was hard work.

Everyday there was something new to learn again.  Supporting his own weight while sitting up, eating, and relieving himself all took significant amounts of energy that Robbie scarcely felt he had in him.  The simple act of drinking a bowl of broth one afternoon had cost him Cecilia’s visit that evening – he couldn’t stay awake while she sat by his side.  This was unfortunate, because soon she would be revoked her special privileges to stay with him in the evening.  Now that Robbie was up and on the road to recovery, there was less need of an extra set of eyes to watch him should his condition worsen.

On the contrary, Robbie felt (and his doctors agreed) that the worst was behind him.  His wound was healing but as the doctors warned, the worst of his injuries had been internal.  It might be a long time before the infection in his blood truly died out. Mentally, however, Robbie knew that a chapter had just closed in his life. The worst five years of his life were behind him, and war be damned, nothing but good things could come in the time ahead.  He had been in the hospital just one week now.

His mother dozed at his side, her own nerves and worries overtaxed for that week.  He had never felt so grateful to wake up and see her next to him, her eyes bloodshot and swollen but her face relieved. He had dodged metaphoric and literal bullets to make it back to England, and both mother and son were a little stunned to be together again.

There were other reunions that week that were not as peaceful and pleasant as Grace’s return to his life.  Leon and Jack Tallis had appeared at his bedside Wednesday afternoon.  His mother had taken refuge in the chapel, unable to face the men that had done nothing to defend him when he needed them most.

Leon had been bashful and sincere in his apologies, his eyes flickering back and forth as he spoke and never quite catching Robbie’s gaze.  It was guilt preventing Leon from feeling worthy enough to look him in the eyes, and a selfish part of Robbie enjoyed the terrible feeling he knew churned in the pit of Leon’s stomach.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” Leon said softly.  His voice was thick with emotion and Robbie understood that if he raised it he would crack and cry before him. “But please understand that Father and I are working to clear your name.  A solicitor friend of mine is petitioning the courts for a date as we speak, and hopefully we can submit the new evidence as early as Friday.”

Robbie nodded slowly, his heart fluttering in excitement at these new developments. He clasped Leon’s hand in his own and shook it. Leon gingerly returned the shake, careful not to disturb the saline drip sewn into Robbie’s arm.

Jack’s response had been something entirely altogether unexpected.

“My boy…” The older man’s voice shook as he spoke, and he and Leon both stared on in wonder as Jack’s shoulders slump and shook as he cried at Robbie’s bedside. This went on for some time, until Jack straightened up and addressed him again. “We were wrong. We were so very wrong.”

He took Robbie’s hand and kissed it. “God bless you, my son.” He then turned and left the ward, leaving a speechless Leon and an emotionally drained Robbie.

Finally Leon spoke up. “Will Cee be by tonight?”

“I imagine so.”

“Please give her this,” he said, placing a thick envelope on the nightstand next to Robbie’s bed. “It’s Briony’s testimony from yesterday, typed out.  I thought it would be best if she kept a copy.  Feel free to read it, if you’d like.”

“Thank you,” Robbie said.  He certainly would not like to read that traitorous child’s statement, but it was good to know she had made good on her promise to recant.

“And continue to get better,” Leon said with a smile, leaning over the squeeze Robbie’s shoulder. “I’m afraid we’ve tired you out this afternoon, and my sister will have my head if she hears of it.  I’ll be in touch, Robbie.”

That was two days ago.  That afternoon he knew they were in court on his behalf, introducing new evidence to his case.  Robbie had had five years to become unaccustomed to people caring about him, save for two women. What to do with such an outpouring of emotion from two men he had completely written off?  It made him tired.

“You should sleep, son,” his mother’s voice soothed. “Cee will be here soon.”

So he slept.

His body was not the only part of him in recovery.

* * *

Cecilia arrived home after her shift on Friday afternoon and looked around her flat in with a sort of bewilderment.

Grace shuffled out from the bedroom, carrying her Book of Common Prayer and a small copy of the New Testament, which Cecilia knew had been lent to her by the kindly vicar who lived in the village where Grace had lived the past four years.  Cecilia and Robbie had discussed his mother’s conversion via letters and she wondered at his opinion on her reliance on her newfound faith.  Robbie was a vowed atheist, even moreso after his incarceration.  Cecilia had simply given up on God but she liked the idea of somewhere quiet she could go each week to collect her thoughts and consider her actions.

Between her and Grace, however, a lovely friendship and understanding had blossomed.  Cecilia’s awakening had been aided by the steady vision and support of Grace, who had as good as raised the Tallis children after Briony was born.  Grace was the maternal, caring soul that Cecilia had sought, and Cecilia provided Grace the enthusiasm and optimism about Robbie’s eventual release.  They were there for each other when the rest of the world had given up, united by their love of Robbie.

“You’re home early,” Cecilia commented, hanging her coat on its peg and turning to the small table, which was overflowing with small gifts and letters.

“They were doing rounds and closed visiting hours early,” Grace explained.  “Plus this lot was starting to add up, and I thought I’d arrange it for you.”

“Has all this been here all week?” she asked, picking up a bottle of stout that bore a small note of encouragement from her friend Melinda. “I don’t recall seeing these yesterday.”

“You’ve been too tired to notice,” Grace laughed. “Last night you forgot to take off your shoes before you collapsed into bed.”

“And a sorry mistake that was. My poor heels were blistered halfway during my shift today.”

 “Poor dear.  Shall I draw you a bath?”

“I should go to Morden.  Suppose they’ve lifted the visiting ban for the day?”

“Head Sister shared that it would be better if you stayed home this evening,” Grace shared. “They were going to do some heavy cleaning tonight, too.  Don’t worry, love.  He looked very good today – even ate some toast!”

“That’s good,” Cecilia murmured, sinking into a kitchen chair, going through some more of the trinkets dropped off by her friends. “I don’t believe it – Helen’s gone and given us a full pound of sugar!”

“A pound? Bless her – that’s two rations worth!”

“We ought to make Robbie a cake,” Cecilia mused. “I think I could ask Vera down the street for a few eggs.”

“She stopped by this afternoon to check in on you and offered as much. ‘Just say the word!’ Lovely woman.”

“I seem to be blessed with friends, at any rate.”

Grace let the words hang in the air before she pressed on.  “Any news from your brother?”

Cecilia tried to look disinterested as her fingers danced over a wedge of cheese left by another friend. “He was going to telegram the results of the hearing today, and I’m to meet him at his house tomorrow for tea.  You’re invited, if you’d like.”

“I’ll pass.”

“His wife’s expecting another baby soon, did you hear that?”

“I hadn’t.  Look at you, a regular old auntie.”

Cecilia smiled. “That’s some good in this mess, I suppose.”

Grace stared out the window, her face steely as she spoke. “I don’t suppose your father has any more to say about what’s going on?”

“Leon says Jack’s the one who found a judge willing to hear an old case on Friday afternoon, which may be the first time he’s ever mixed work and family matters.”

“Pity it took him this long,” Grace spat.

“Did he really cry the other day?”

“Sobbed like a little boy.  What an excuse of a man.  Your poor brother – it was if he knew he’d never see his own father be that upset over him.”

“And what did Robbie say?”

“Nothing. He accepted their apologies, but he didn’t forgive either of them, at least not using those words.”

 “He shouldn’t have to.”

“I agree,” Grace affirmed. “Now miss, neither of us are doing any good waiting here for that telegram to arrive.  Let me run that bath some with epsom salts. They’ll do you good, and I’ll make a supper out of this feast your friends have brought.”

* * *

Briony had insisted on being present for the initial hearing.  At first Leon was convinced it was shirk more duties at St. Thomas’s, but her badgering  turned out to be a good instinct.

“Miss Tallis, do you attest that you have made this amendment to your original statement in good faith and in full liberty? That is, you were not coerced to do so?”

“That is correct.  And may I state for the record that my absence at the original trial likely caused this falsehood to be carried on for so long?  I doubt I would have been able to continue on the lie in the presence of the full court, especially at age thirteen.”

“You may.”

“Statement has been noted, your honor.”

“And do you understand that, in light of this and other evidence the court has been made aware of, the assailant of your cousin, Lola Quincey, remains at large should Mr. Turner be found innocent?”

“I do.”

“So be it. This case is hereby reopened.  We will send notice to the defendants and reconvene in two weeks’ time.”

Briony noticed Leon blanche as the judge spoke. “What’s wrong? What does that mean?”

Leon’s friend Bruce turned to Briony with his answer. “Your cousin Lola will have to testify again.”

Briony’s blank stare cause Leon to grimace. “If Lola knows it’s Marshall – and I’m sure she does – she doesn’t have to say a word against him.  A wife doesn’t have to testify against her husband.”

Briony’s heart sunk as she processed what it meant. “Oh no.”

* * *

_Saturday, June 8 th, 1940_

Cecilia rang the doorbell at Leon’s house in Regents Park, shifting uncomfortably. Her shoes were old and worn but it had rained earlier that day, and she didn’t dare wear her new pumps in the sludge that accumulated on London’s streets.  She was painfully aware of how dull she looked compared to even the outside of her brother’s posh townhouse.

Leon answered the door with a grin and her nervousness was forgotten as he crushed her into a hug. “Thank you for coming, darling. May I take your coat? You didn’t get wet on your way here, did you?”

She followed him into the neat and tastefully decorated sitting room where a delicate woman sat with her legs elevated, her peaked face serene but tired. Cecilia knew she looked drab in comparison to even this very pregnant woman, but she could feel that Mary would not judge her for her lack of fashionable attire.

“Dearest, I’m so pleased for you to meet my sister, Cecilia,” Leon beamed. Mary shifted to get up, but Cecilia stopped her.

“Oh, please don’t, you poor thing! It’s so lovely to meet you, Mary.”

“Likewise,” replied her sister-in-law. They kissed and Cecilia sat across from her, chatting about her pregnancy and their little girl, Evelyn, who had been whisked off to Glasgow a month previous.

“It’s hard without her around, but it’s a relief to know she’s in good hands with my parents.”

“The maternity ward I work at is talking of relocating.  They’re trying to find a place big enough for all our patients and us to be within walking distance.”

“Must you go?” Mary inquired.

“If I want to work,” Cecilia replied. “I’ve only recently passed my qualifying exams.  It would be good to gain some credibility before I establish myself elsewhere. Although I must say the war will probably keep my employment prospects high for the time being.”

“How exciting! It must feel so useful to know how much good you can do.”

The two women chatted as if he wasn't there.  Leon could hardly stop beaming at how famously his wife and sister were getting along, that he nearly skipped to answer the telephone when it rang.

“Tallises.”

“Leon, darling. It’s me.”

Leon’s heart froze when he heard the voice on the other line. “Mother.  What a surprise.  Well, I’ll share what you’re bound to be calling about.  The baby’s not come yet and Mary’s been feeling just fine. The doctor’s not worried.”

“Good, good.” Leon could hear the familiar crunch of bedclothes and knew his mother was reclining in her bed, warding off a migraine headache. “Darling, I’m actually calling about another matter. My brother telephoned me just a few minutes ago, and had some shocking news from Hermione.”

“Is that so.” Leon feigned surprise and winced, knowing what was coming.

“He heard that Lola’s court case against that Turner scoundrel is opened again, and that Briony’s recanted her testimony.”

He took a big breath and decided to face this head-on. “Yes, it’s true. Briony spoke to a solicitor and stood before a judge yesterday.  I’m sorry I haven’t gotten around to telling you. It’s been a very long week.”

There was a silence over the line. “Am I to believe you were encouraging her to do so?”

“I found a solicitor and Jack arranged for the judge.”

“Leon, how _could_ you? Your own cousin, right before her wedding day!”

“Actually, Mother, I was thinking more about your daughters than I was your niece.”

“Don’t talk to me about Cecilia.  Cecilia’s made her choice in life.   _Briony_ , on the other hand, already has had to deal with these great things far above her understanding…”

“The issue with Briony’s original statement,” Leon said icily. “Is that she understood she was lying from the start.  The real question is why you let her.”

Emily was silent again before answering.  “A mother must protect her family.  I saw a threat and I made sure it was vanquished. Surely you understand that now, being a parent yourself.”

“I understand that I would never pit any of my two children against each other,” he answered. “And I hope to teach my children there’s honor in doing the right thing.”

“Leon, I need to get off the line.  I’m getting a terrible headache about this. Please promise me that you’ll think of your poor sister before you make any more rash decisions.”

He knew she meant Briony, but he couldn’t help but think of Cecilia. “I have her best interests at heart. You can trust me about that.”

“That’s my good boy,” Emily simpered. “Give my love to Mary.”

“Yes, Mother.”

The line went dead on the end and Leon stood at the receiver for a moment, trying to calm himself down before facing the two women in the sitting room. On top of appeasing Cecilia, soothing Briony, holding Jack accountable, asking pardon from Robbie until his voice grew hoarse, _and_ taking care of his growing family, it now appeared he would have to shield Robbie from his mother’s long-held hatred and somehow think of a way to keep Emily at bay.

“Leon?” Cecilia’s voice rang out in the hallway. “Where are you?”

“Right here, sis,” he called out.  He noted the worried tone to her voice. “What’s up?”

“Mary’s water just broke -- call her doctor! The baby’s on its way.”  


	8. Navigating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -Marian Tallis arrives. Cecilia's nursing skills help in two difficult situations but evades dealing with two others. Briony rationalizes bad decisions. Robbie is on an emotional roller coaster-

_Sunday, June 9_ _th_ _, 1940_

There was a deep satisfaction in receiving new life.

The doctor, a general practitioner of the old sort, a very skilled man, had arrived an hour after they had called for him. Cecilia liked him immensely, and with her assistance, a little girl was born to Leon and Mary shortly after midnight. She realized immediately after cleaning up from the birth why Mary chose to give birth at home when London was full of skilled hospitals and physicians – Leon hadn't left his wife's side once allowed in after the birth, and had tended to his little daughter with a passion and dedication that surprised and impressed her sister. In the hospital Leon would have been sent home long before the baby arrived, and baby and mother would have been separated as well. Here the little family bonded together on the same bed where it had all began nine months prior.

"We ought to name her for you," Mary murmured as Cecilia deftly tidied up around the resting mother.

"I don't think so," Cecilia replied, arranging the bassinette with the soft and sweet-smelling sheets. "You did all the hard work. Doctor and I merely assisted."

"Yes, but it was so  _easy_  this time," Mary countered, stroking her daughter's petal-soft cheek. "I didn't bleed the way I did when Evie was born, or tear."

"The first baby is always the hardest. And this little one was so small – likely that all made a difference."

"You think she'll be all right, having come so early?" Leon asked in a worried voice.

"At thirty-eight weeks gestation, the baby may be on the small side, but she's perfectly made and seems to be breathing very well on her own. There's no reason to suspect she won't be hearty and learning to walk alongside her sister in a year's time." Cecilia had seen hundreds of children born by this point in her career – she attended at least three births a day at the Weir Road Maternity Home – but there was something fundamentally different about the one she attended that night. She had missed her first niece's birth, but her second niece would not know a life without her Aunt Cecilia, and the satisfaction of a successful birth paired well with the healing balm that was being able once again to love her brother.

"Darling, I insist on naming her for you," Leon said, placing a kiss into his wife's tousled hair.

"Mary's such a dull name," she protested.

"What's your middle name?" Cecilia prompted. "Perhaps we can do something with that."

"Anne," replied Mary. "Mary Anne Tallis. It's so very dull, and not lively at all. Oh please Leon, let's not. I don't like it."

It took Cecilia a minute, but something came to her. "What about Marian? That's so pretty and feminine."

"Marian Tallis. Oh, how perfect! That's much better. Leon kept insisting we call her Eugenie."

"Only out of jest," Leon smiled. "Then it's settled. Marian! You'll consent to being her godmother, won't you Cecilia? Because I can't think about Maid Marian without thinking of you."

"Oh?" his sister asked incredulously, sinking down at the foot of bed. It was the first time in hours that she had sat down. "What do you mean?"

"Of noble birth, estranged from her family due to her love an outlawed man, who's persecuted without just cause?" The two siblings looked at each other for a moment, and Cecilia's eyes brimmed with tears for a minute, her heart inflamed with love and tenderness in this most perfect moment. She had, without a doubt, forgiven Leon for his part in abandoning Robbie. Leon knew exactly how he had failed them, and had done his utmost to make it right.

She tried not to let her voice shake as she spoke. "You're such a dreamer, Leon. But yes, I'll be her godmother."

Her brother's eyes shone, too. "I'm glad."

She cleared her throat and stood up. She maneuvered the bassinette to Mary's side. "When you're ready to sleep – and I suggest you try, while baby's napping so peacefully – set her down here and try to rest. And Leon, don't be afraid to tend to either of them, though you won't be of much use when little Marian gets hungry."

"I hope it doesn't surprise you that I'm excellent at changing a nappy," Leon defended.

Cecilia yawned through her grin. "I'm going to set myself up downstairs and sleep, but I'll pop back in to check on you both before I leave in the morning."

"Must you go?" Mary asked, shifting the little baby to her other arm.

"You're not the only one who needs me to be there when their time comes, I'm afraid. My work doesn't wait."

"But could you come over the weekend?" Mary begged. "I know the nurse from the antenatal clinic will come to check on the baby, but it's so nice to have someone I know and trust look the baby over. Please, Cecilia?"

Trust had been lost for a long time between Cecilia and her family. It was good to be found worthy of it again, strange a thought as that was.

"I couldn't say no to my god-daughter. I'll be by tomorrow evening."

* * *

"Free of fever for two whole days! You'll be well enough for the convalescent floor by Monday," Nurse Carey said cheerfully to Robbie Turner that Sunday morning as she helped him sit up. "A week or two there and your strength will return to you in no time, mark my words!"

Having energy was an exciting prospect, for the most taxing part of his recovery was the constant feeling of exhaustion that seemed to cloud his mind. "I hope the food's as good there as it is here," he joked.

The young nurse chuckled appreciatively. "Spoken like a true soldier. Speaking of which, you'll have a full beard by Midsummer if we don't do something soon. How about it - a bath and a shave? The barber'll be around later next week, but in the meantime we can get you looking a bit less like a convict."

Robbie winced at her choice of words and knew from her warm expression she had meant it entirely in jest. He would control that feeling of pain and anger that stemmed from those years at Wandsworth Prison. He would not lash out at this nurse. He managed a grimace that could be mistaken for a smile. "Yes, a bath. That sounds like just the thing."

* * *

It took Cecilia a full hour after her shift ended that day to get from her hospital in Balham to Leon's house near the Regent's Park. She was tired and momentarily cranky for agreeing to return and check on her niece, despite the fact that a qualified midwife would check in on mother and daughter twice daily until Mary's month of sitting in was finished. But the feeling of exhaustion quickly evaporated once she had the little girl in her arms. The weight of a newborn was enough to soothe even the most trouble of minds, and Cecilia felt herself cooing with her sister-in-law over the baby's perfect and delicate features.

"I think we'll have the baptism in two weeks' time. The midwife thinks there's no reason I can't travel after that, and Leon's getting nervous by the hour having the two of us in London."

"They are getting rather serious about those bombing warnings," Cecilia agreed. "Has your warden issued the baby's gas mask yet?"

"I hadn't thought about that," Mary said worriedly. "Do they make those?"

"Of course," Cecilia replied. "They're a tad cumbersome, but easy enough to use once you get the hang of it. I'll show you once you get yours – you'll feel better knowing it's there in case of an attack."

The two women chatted for several minutes before there was a knock at the door. Leon's head peaked in and he looked towards Cecilia. "Sis, I hate to rush you, but I think it's time to go."

Cecilia and Mary exchanged confused looks, which made Leon sigh and press on. "We've got visitors and I don't think you're ready to greet either of them."

Cecilia's stomach lurched when she understood his meaning. "The parents?"

"The parents," Leon affirmed. "They're down in the drawing room. Emily has a tendency to wear Mary out, so I was going to take the baby down there and present her. I hate to be sneaky about it, but you could duck out the side entrance and not cause too much fuss."

Cecilia nodded, and tried not to show her shock. She turned to her sister-in-law and wrapped in her a quick hug. "I'll be by midweek to check-in again, but everything's looking so well. Don't be afraid to ask the midwife anything when she stops by. I assure you she's seen it before."

Leon and Cecilia were silent as they made their way downstairs, the quiet fussing of the baby echoing off the tastefully decorated halls of Leon's house. "Did they give no warning? I imagined Jack would have phoned. It's not like him to make a visit unannounced," Cecilia asked, sotto voce.

"It appears Emily came in to Town this afternoon and surprised Jack at Whitehall. She's trying to talk me into sending Mary and the baby down to Surrey for the rest of her confinement."

"Mary's fine here. A journey so soon would wear her out," Cecilia argued. "They keep talking about air raids, but I don't think it's a true threat yet."

"I agree. Don't worry – I can stand my ground to the parents. I suspect Emily's on guard. She knows Briony's recanted her evidence and Jack's in on it as well. She called last night on the war path. I think she's feeling wounded."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Cecilia exclaimed, looking alarmed towards her brother as they descended a staircase.

Leon adjusted the murmuring newborn in his arms, delicately arranging the soft blanket that swaddled his daughter. "I couldn't upset Mary, and I figured you had enough to worry about without dealing with our mother. Let me handle the parents, Cee. You go home and rest." He opened a door that led to a backyard garden. "There's a path that leads round to the front. Wait a few minutes so you can be sure they're both inside with me."

The leaned in for a quick hug, gently avoiding the small bundle of a girl in the crook of Leon's arm. "I'll be in touch about the trial. May I use your address to contact Robbie?"

"You may," she replied. "Good luck, Leon."

* * *

Back at St. Thomas's, it was already lights out and most of the girls on the probationer block were sound asleep, nearly senseless after a full week of direct trauma care. Briony was weary in body but far too excited by her accidental good fortune to sleep. In an overlooked garret not far from the sleeping quarters, she sat and poured over the letters the soldier with the Cockney accent had shoved into her hands.

She couldn't be blamed  _completely_  for the misunderstanding. When the soldier had asked if she was Miss Tallis, of  _course_  she was going to reply in the affirmative. Briony had merely forgotten that she was at her sister's flat and there would be no reason for anyone to recognize her in that place. Evading Leon's inquiry about the nature of the soldier's visit had just been a reflex. Yes, when you slowed down to think about it, it really made sense for Briony to take Cecilia's letters to Robbie from the soldier who made sure they were brought back from France.

After all, if she hadn't been there, who was to say where the letters might have ended up? With Cecilia's sniveling landlady? Lost in the post? No, for the moment, they were far safer with her.

She traced her sister's writing on the envelope, fingers looping over the amalgamation of letters and numbers that identified Robbie and his regiment. Briony began methodically, ordering the letters from oldest to most recent. The first ones began just after Robbie's release from prison, and from the first few letters Briony surmised there had been a brief reunion between the two that had found them timid at first, but quickly resolved their love for one another and solidified their plans of a future together.

It panged her heart to read about her sister processing through her feelings and expectations about life now that there was hope of eventual reunification. Cecilia wrote frankly about her work and social life, filled in Robbie about his mother the things Grace herself held back – namely that she had found solace in the Church – and finally, Cecilia wrote to Robbie about her own dreams and his feelings and emotions about his newfound freedom. The letters began plain and tentative in their affection, but quickly Briony realized the pair had been prevented from showing stronger emotions due to an overzealous psychiatrist. Slowly the letter worked to banter and connection that made Briony desperately wish she had Robbie's replies as well. Surely somewhere in that small flat in Balham there was another stack of letters.

Exhausted for the night, she folded up her stack and tied them together. She held them to her nose and breathed in. There was the faint odor of gunpowder or something sulphuric, but mostly the paper smelled plain and ordinary. Robbie must have carried these for months, carried them to the lines of war when all he could take with him were the very things necessary for life. These letters – above any other item – had made the cut.

Briony felt her way down the ladder leading to the garret, knowing she had done the right thing that weekend by finally telling the truth. She had finally written it out in January in the form of "Two Figure by a Fountain," her seemingly doomed novella written from her vantage point she had that hot June day in 1935. The letters made her thing that it wouldn't do to just show one view of Robbie and Cecilia if she was to bring their story to justice. She was going to have to present the situation from all sides.

She would get the letters back to Cecilia one day. They had made it this far – from Cecilia's flat, across the Channel, right to Robbie's regiment, and across the Channel once again, defying terrible odds.

But for now, Briony had a few ideas of her own.

* * *

_Thursday, June 13_ _th_ _, 1940_

The week fell into a steady beat of work and sleep, with a small respite in between where she pelted Grace with questions about Robbie's recovery. He had been moved from the critical ward on Monday and slowly was regaining the feeling of autonomy. The visiting hours, now that family members would be reassured that their loved ones were well and on their way to recovery, had been reduced as the Army made plans to reorganize their remaining regiments and made plans to fight again. An hour in the afternoon was all that was permitted. Grace came faithfully, armed with an arsenal of food that Robbie didn't quite have the stomach for, but the other convalescents happily pounced upon. She brought the newspaper and filled him in on the goings on outside the Morden EMS walls. Finally it was Thursday, and Cecilia's long week of working night shifts at the maternity home gave way to one blessed day off.

It was hard not to run as she made her way to the Tube station. The sun was so bright and the day so warm that she had contemplated walking the way to the EMS. That would have taken her the better part of two hours, and Cecilia had resolved not to miss a minute of her one hour with Robbie.

The nurses on duty greeted her cheerfully and she made her way to the unfamiliar recovery ward, where soldiers spent the day in alternating rounds of rehabilitation and rest.

Her heels clicked loudly on the scrubbed tile floor and echoed off the walls of the ward, conspicuously sharp against the muffled sounds of men snoring lightly. She rounded the corner to where Grace said he would be, and almost kept walking. She stifled a laugh when she realized she'd overlooked Robbie in his clean-shaven state. He dozed in the bed, the newspaper folded over his chest as if he'd fallen asleep reading it. She crouched next to him and stared for a moment. He still looked positively beat, but his color was certainly better than the pallid state he arrived in. And best, his septicemia was under control. There were still traces of infection in his blood, the doctors explained, but his body seemed to be better at fighting the infection within. Gingerly she took the paper from his hands and tried to fold it as quietly as she could.

He stirred and yawned, smiling as he stretched out. She returned the smile and leaned in to kiss his cheek.

"Is that they teach you to greet all soldiers?" he teased, his voice scratchy with sleep. She laughed and brushed her lips against his while finding a free hand of his, squeezing it tightly as she sat on the bed.

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

"I hoped you planned to. You didn't come all this way just to stare at me sleep, did you?"

"Your mother said they wear you out on this floor. It's important that you rest."

"I'll rest when I'm dead," he replied, slowly sitting himself up to visit with her.

"You'll rest when I say," she said sternly. "I'm serious – you can't push yourself so hard, not with a recovering septic wound. You were nearly dead last week."

"I'm not right now," he protested.

"No, but heaven help you if you put me through that hell again."

They looked at each other for a long moment, her eyes pleading and his defiant. Suddenly his body relaxed and his eyes lost the tension they once held. "I promise to sleep like a baby once you leave today. For now, I request your lovely company. How long have we left?"

"Forty-five minutes."

"Measly."

"Stingy," she agreed. "I suppose I should fill you in on the news?"

"What else could possibly happen this week? Between Leon's baby and half the Army being incapacitated I figured we all had our schedules full."

"The baby's doing well. I stopped by and saw her and Mary last night. She swallowed hard before going on. "Leon spoke to me. They scheduled your retrial."

His face paled and he swallowed a few times in quick succession. "Soon?"

"End of the month. Leon assures me that they won't have any reason to re-incarcerate you. You've served the terms of your sentence. This is just to re-evaluate the sentence in light of Briony's new testimony and decide if it was just. If they find a new verdict, your record will be cleared. No matter what, the law is clear. You won't be going back to prison."

Robbie ran a hand through his recently cut hair and breathed heavily. He opened his mouth but no words came out.

"Robbie?"

"I don't want to go," he gasped, his pupils dilating and his breath quickly becoming a pant.

If she wasn't a nurse, the switch in his personality might have frightened her. Instinctively, Cecilia stood up and pulled the curtain near his cot closed, shielding him from view from the other patients. She returned to his side and took him by his forearm, her fingers prying open his clenched fist. Quickly she removed the pillow from behind his head and gently laid his head down, then propped the pillow under his legs, elevating them. "Darling, you need to breathe nice big breaths. Just like this." She inhaled audibly through her nose and exhaled through her mouth, blowing as if she was extinguishing a candle.

His eyes were closed tight and his hand grasped tightly around hers. He tried to inhale but his breath hitched and he exhaled in jagged puffs, almost coughing.

"That's it," she said encouragingly. "Now do that again and try to relax."

Slowly she worked him down to a less agitated state. His forehead was dotted with perspiration and his eyes were still closed.

"Robbie, darling?"

The sound of her saying his name brought him back to the room. She studied him for a moment, looking him up and down worriedly. "How often does that happen? When your fears get the better of you?"

Shakily, he sat up. She pulled him up and rearranged the pillows back to their proper state. He reached for the glass of water next to his bed, but his hands shook so violently she had to help him steady them as he took large, greedy gulps.

"I shouldn't have told you," she said remorsefully.

"I'll have to go," he said dully. "I was going to be told one way or another. I suppose I'm glad I lost my nerve in front of you and not some card from the courts."

"Robbie…" she tried again.

"I can usually fight it," he explained. "In France it was always there, lurking in the background. I thought about being imprisoned by the Germans and I couldn't…just couldn't…" He swallowed hard and breathed as she taught him. "In training it was easier to have a bit of release from it. I don't know how many times I imagined seeing the lot of them and tearing them all to pieces with my bayonet."

"Who, Robbie? The lot of who?"

The smile on his face was wolfish and wild. "Your family. Jack, Briony, your terrible mother. The whole lot of them," he repeated as he stared down at his hands, letting his words sink in. "And now you've gone and done exactly what I asked you to do in my last letter. Making amends while I still think of ripping them from limb to limb."

Her mind was reeling as she thought of an appropriate thing to say in response to his outburst. "No one could blame you for thinking that."

"Would you?" he countered. "I've led you on, Cecilia. I am no generous spirit, though it's charming that you should think so."

She didn't like the self-loathing and acid that had dripped into his voice. She shifted from her chair to next to him on the thin hospital cot. She reached for both his hands with hers and stroked them tenderly. "It's not your fault," she whispered. "And I trust you, completely. I always have and I always will."

"You're a fool, Cecilia Tallis."

"I don't deny that," she countered, not stopping her massage of his hands. "Though I hear that Cecilia Turner doesn't suffer fools so easily."

He laughed and caught her gaze. She squeezed his hands and brought them to her lips, kissing his knuckles and closing her eyes tightly. "I'd like to hear more about this Cecilia Turner," he teased.

"Me too," she agreed. "When do you suppose she'll have the time to make an appearance?"

"I have to return to Aldershot and report for duty once I'm fit for duty. I don't know how long that will take."

"Eventually they'll move you to a convalescent home until your strength returns. That may take a bit. Months, even. That's not the only thing in our way, though. There's talk of relocating the maternity home, too."

He looked up at her, quizzically. "Out of London?"

She nodded. "All expectant mothers and small children under our care are being relocated to Lancashire. I'm expected to come along and ease the transition. They tell us it will be in September."

He sighed, easing back into his bed. "It seems the Army and the hospital don't approve of our being together."

"It would seem," she agreed. "But we're ahead of ourselves, I'm afraid. First you have to be released to the convalescent home. Then maybe these plans of ours can find their end."

"First we'll have to get through the trial," he corrected, his voice once again bitter.

"You're not the only one who's nervous, you know. Leon's told me Emily insists on being there…"

"Christ."

"And there's always the possibility they'll ask Lola to testify again. Lord knows how that might go this time around."

Robbie shook his head. "Why would they? Unless she also recants her testimony, I can't see why that would make a difference. All Lola's ever said on record is that she couldn't positively say who it was who violated her. A man of my height. That's all she ever said."

Cecilia tried her hardest to wear a neutral expression.  _He doesn't know about Marshall_ , she reminded herself and quickly tried to avert the topic. She didn't feel she had the strength to talk him down after another outburst. But something in what he said gave her an idea. It might even be worth making a visit to her father. "You're right. I don't know why I worried about Lola changing her mind."

Just then a head popped in from around the closed curtains. "Time to say your good-byes! Visiting time ends in five minutes," a junior nurse chirped.

"When's your next day off?" he asked, reaching for her hand and lightly squeezing it.

"Thursday next," she replied. "It's a strict schedule for the next few weeks and I already had to switch with one of the girls for the little Marian's baptism . Don't worry, though. I'll send lots of news through Grace."

"She won't be returning home?"

"Not anytime soon," Cecilia replied. "Though it's hardly surprising that securing your well-being prevails over her love of her chatting with the vicar after noonday Mass."

"The vicar?" Robbie inquired.

"Oh dear, has she really said nothing? Pester her about it tomorrow. I've got to run." She leaned in for a kiss, this time relaxing into his lips and synchronizing her breath with his for a few moments.

"Thank you for helping me," he whispered as they broke apart, their faces still close and intimate. She stroked his cheek as they gazed at one another. "When I wasn't acting myself."

"Anytime," she said lightly, though she knew he was serious and that it was likely far from the last time she would have to help him deal with his demons.  _One thing at a time_ , she told herself, and swooped in to kiss him once again. "Don't push yourself too hard, Private Turner."

"And suffer your wrath? Nurse Tallis, I would not dream of it."


	9. Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's orchestrated mayhem as the evidence against Robbie is presented in a trial. Will the jury clear his past? 
> 
> Author's Note: HELLO. Thank you one and all for all of your reviews and private kudos! They really kept me going. My goal is to finish this story within the year. It's been long finished in my head. I just need the time to bang it out on the keyboard. I'll get there. Thanks for sticking around. xoxo

Jack Tallis was not a nervous man by any stretch of the imagination. One didn't arrive to his position in life without having an iron will. He wielded it at his office at Whitehall and, when he was actually there, he wielded it at home in Surrey. It was easy to feel powerful in places where it was expected of you.

That bright morning in late July, Jack found himself pacing around the sitting room of his London flat waiting for Walter Bruce to arrive. Leon's friend had been the serious, knowledgeable sort of man whose gravitas in the courtroom commanded authority and respect.

They would need authority and respect today to pull off today's stunt. In two hours, a judge would hear new evidence submitted on behalf of the plaintiff. If successful, it would overturn the court's previous ruling and change the life of one man: Robbie Turner would be exonerated for the assault of Lola Quincey.

The static buzz of his doorbell jerked Jack's attention to the sitting room door, where his housekeeper guided in the grave-faced Bruce.

"Mr. Tallis."

"Mr. Bruce. How good of you to come."

"My pleasure. Are we meeting your daughter Briony here or at the courtroom?"

"There. It's just down the road from St. Thomas's."

"And Private Turner? He's in good health, I take it?"

"As well as could be expected. The Matron at the home was reluctant to release him for the trial, even for the day. My elder daughter, Cecilia, tells me recovery could take a while."

"Let us hope today's outcome aids his recuperation."

"Do you really think you really think there's a chance?"

Bruce sighed and sat down opposite Jack. "We'll have to proceed very carefully. I'm representing Briony, of course, and your niece, and Leon's arranged for another one of our Cambridge fellows to act as solicitor for Private Turner. Officially we are on opposite sides, but as the defense has nothing to present and it's solely the prosecution presenting new evidence. There should not be anything to prevent us from offering Briony's new testimony and that of the twins."

"You sound hesitant."

"I've heard Marshall will be there, and my guess is that he won't be happy, " Bruce explained. "We blindsided him. Back in '35, Briony and Miss Quincey were represented by the same legal team without much fuss. Briony was their key to conviction. He's not in charge of who's representing his wife, and my fear is that we'll be stalled."

"How easy will it be to do that?"

"That all depends on the judge. And how the judge feels depends entirely on who he sees before him."

* * *

"Absolutely not."

Robbie was suddenly grateful for the short, stubborn woman who stood between him and the solicitor hired by Leon to represent him. One did not get to be ward matron of a hospital by being a shrinking violet, but the woman in charge of the convalescent home was strict like no other that Robbie had experienced so far in his recovery. Even Cecilia, who seemed to have a way with hospital hierarchy, acknowledged that there would be no bending of rules while he was here. Gone were the special privileges she'd had at Morden, where at the end several of the nurses made sure to exchange addresses with Cecilia and had treated him with special care. In a way, this new situation was a welcome relief from the attention and the effort it cost him to engage in small talk. Cee and his mother happily engaged in the banter between the nurses and staff. It grated on his nerves, though he told no one of this. The blessed quiet of the convalescent home was soothing.

He had been here not quite a week. Each day closer to Friday he felt the pit of dread grow in his stomach. He was expected at court at eleven that very morning. A judge would be Briony's new testimony and reevaluating his sentence. He'd been warned by Leon that they might question him again. There was something else Leon feared – Robbie could see it plainly etched on Leon's face when he had came by the day before – but Leon had said nothing about whatever it was.

Somewhere along the way they'd all forgotten to inform the ward matron of his trial.

"Absolutely not," she repeated. Robbie could imagine her heels digging into the floor as she spoke. Sister's arms were crossed, and despite her short stature, prim apron, and ruffled cap, the solicitor in front of her seemed to shrink as she went on. "Mr. Pierce. Need I remind you why Private Turner is here in the first place? He is  _recovering_. He may be lucky enough to have all his limbs, but a severe case of septicemia can render the strongest among us dead in three days flat. I've seen it. Even if we have the infection that caused his sickness under control, his entire body is still reeling from the toll the bacteria had on every cell within him. Am I making myself clear, sir?"

"Quite," Pierce replied, straightening himself up. "I understand the severity of his situation and the importance of his recovery. I'm afraid, however, that Private Turner is expected in forty-five minutes to appear in court. You – very rightly – are focusing on his present needs. I am here to ensure his success in the future, which very unfortunately must be dealt with this morning."

The ward matron's eyes narrowed and the two stared at each other with a cool indifference. Finally the matron sighed. "Would the court object to a nurse accompanying Private Turner? Should his condition change, I want a pair of capable hands there to prevent a bad attack."

Mr. Pierce face visibly relaxed. "Sister, that sounds like a very reasonable decision."

"Don't overstep the bounds of my kindness, solicitor," snapped the matron. "Nurse Milburn, could you come here a moment?" A bright cheeked nurse who Robbie estimated to be a few years older than Cecilia strode over to Robbie's bedside. "I have an odd request to make of you. You're to accompany Private Turner to his court appearance. Should his condition change, you are to immediately and swiftly bring him back here. I don't care if you have to pull him from the stand. With any luck we won't have to send him back to the hospital because of a relapse. A man in his conditions needs rest and plenty of it. Of  _all_ the foolish things I've heard so far this war, Mr. Pierce, making a sick man attend a trial after he's nearly lost his life for his country is near the top."

"May I quote you on that, Sister?" replied Pierce. "That is just the case we mean to make today.

Being a private, his lack of insignia made losing his uniform during his hospitalization was not the ordeal it might have been if he was an officer. Nurse Milburn fetched a clean private's uniform from somewhere in the convalescent home – Robbie had seen other soldiers back in uniform and discharged earlier that week – and eased him into it. He had worn little but hospital-issued pajamas and dressing gowns the past few weeks, and it surprised him what a trial it was to put on a proper outfit. He leaned forward to lace his boots and nearly fell out of the bed, steadied by the expert arm of Nurse Milburn.

"I'm so sorry," he mumbled as the woman knelt to tie his boots. "I didn't expect to get so dizzy."

"Not to worry," came the cheery reply. The nurse bustled about the way his mother did when she was younger. These days, Grace shuffled more than he remembered. He realized with some concern that the past five years had prematurely aged his mother in the same way it had hardened and aged himself. "Under normal circumstances, you wouldn't be expected to do this on your own for quite some time. I'll warn you – septicemia's a nasty recovery. Sister's within her right to want to refuse this favor she's granted you."

If she had been a younger nurse Robbie might have clammed up and gritted his teeth through the forced cheerfulness that all nurses seemed to employ when the odds began to look slim. He stared dully past her, his eyes fixed on the wall. "It's no favor to me."

Nurse Milburn swung her arm around his shoulder and hoisted herself under his armpit, expertly helping him to his feet. "It's a favor to someone, at any rate. Now be a good fellow and take the cane at the end of the bed. It will help steady you and relieve me of some of your weight. Get a feel for it, dear."

Together they hobbled toward the common room where the solicitor paced impatiently. He spotted them and strode over. "Good!" he exclaimed at the sight of Robbie upright. "A uniformed, injured soldier. That's exactly the picture we need to paint. Now let's go! I'm glad I decided to bring the car."

Nurse Milburn arched a skeptical eyebrow towards Robbie. "Good Lord, whatever did you do that pitiful is your preferred state?"

"It's a classic case of misunderstanding," Mr. Pierce filled in, assisting the nurse as she eased Robbie down the stairs. "But a complicated one, so naturally one must tip the balance in the right direction. Mind the step."

A sheen of sweat had begun to gather underneath Robbie's service cap as he labored down the staircase. His head felt light and his vision swam. "Could we have a moment?" he rasped. They paused as he caught his breath.

The nurse tsked. "I don't like the looks of this. The poor man's been through enough already. "

Robbie shook his head, a deep-seated desire to prove the world wrong stirring inside his chest. Or perhaps it was the infection reigniting in his veins. At any rate, his heart beat loudly at the prospect of being beaten, not by the courts, but by his own physical inability. "I'll be fine once we're to the vehicle."

"They said you were tenacious," the solicitor said approvingly. "I've a good feeling about today."

* * *

Briony paced in front of the doors leading to the courtroom, her heart beating wildly and her throat hoarse in anticipation of having to assert her new evidence. She had recited her recanted statement aloud during the walk from the hospital to the courthouse.

"Due to my young, overactive imagination, I convinced myself that Mr. Turner had performed actions that went against my prior understanding of his character…"

She worried about the other damning details of that night, of the obscene letter she had absconded with from Cecilia's dresser drawer.  _"In my dreams I kiss your cunt, your sweet wet cunt . In my thoughts I make love to you all day long."_ She had forgotten about that first piece of intercepted correspondence until earlier that month when she found herself with a stack of letters, this time from Cecilia to Robbie. How to convince a judge of Robbie's innocence with _that_  in existence? It should have never been seen by anyone other than Robbie and Cecilia. Now it was evidence – evidence that had been made public when the case had gone to trial in 1935. It seemed to be a detail that helped to seal her own testimony of his character five long years ago.

"...which, due to a series of ill-timed events, resulted in my insistence of his part in the assault of my cousin, who at the time was Miss Lola Quincey."

It sounded stilted and forced, even though she had spent hours crafting the syntax and choosing her wording carefully in her written statement. Worse yet was the fact that Leon – steady, calming Leon! – would not be there that day. He was on his way to Glasgow, accompanying his sweet little wife and their new daughter to his in-law's house further out in the Scottish countryside. Threats of German bombing were imminent and every day spent left in any city felt like a gamble. Now that the baby and Mary had been deemed fit for travel, no time was to be wasted whisking them away to safety. The solicitor, Bruce, was a nice enough chap, but not as warm and reassuring as Leon in times like this.

Briony took a large breath and tried to calm herself.  _This is what you get for lying. No comfort for Briony._ _Not today._

Suddenly she spotted her father making his way toward the courtroom. He nodded at her in acknowledgment and came to greet her. Jack was as much a mystery to her as she was to him; how was it that one could be related so closely yet know so little about them? Briony banished the extra thought from her head. The last thing she needed right now was something to ponder and daydream.

"Nervous?" he asked.

"No," she replied truthfully. "I'm worried."

Jack nodded gravely. In a low voice he instructed, "When they call you to the box, answer honestly and truthfully. The barristers will have read the statement you made several weeks ago and will ask you questions about it. Just stick to the facts. We're expecting the Marshalls to show up with their own solicitor, but there's no reason to believe the court will allow it or that it will matter, since you gave evidence on behalf of the prosecution. That hasn't changed. But know this: Robbie's being represented by another friend of your brother's. It must not appear that the two sides are working together in any way. Do you understand what I am saying, Briony?"

"I think so," she said slowly. "Recanting my evidence means that Lola's true assailant will remain at large. If they judge knew they were working together, it might seem like we were trying to free a guilty man."

"Exactly so," her father affirmed. "Do exactly as you're told and repeat your statement. No embellishments, no unnecessary adjectives. Just the truth."

"Will they call on you or Emily?" Briony asked.

Jack's brow furrowed as if he hadn't thought of that prospect. "I think not," he said evenly. "It will be easy enough to understand our motives if they believe you. In fact, your mother and I will sit next to you in the witness box. It will show our support of your decision. "

"It just seems odd that they wouldn't. My reason for carrying on so long was because Emily – Oh! It's Robbie!" she exclaimed loudly, clapping a hand over her mouth as soon as she said it.

If he heard her, he didn't acknowledge it. She gaped as he made his way across the floor to his seat, cognizant that this was the first time she had seen him since that night in June five years ago. A uniformed nurse aided him to the prisoner's dock. His eyes were heavy-lidded and his skin was pale with a faint sheen of perspiration. He leaned heavily on a cane and gripped the seat in front of him as he eased himself onto the bench. Briony searched his face for glimpses of familiarity. Would she recognize him if she saw him on the street? He had not changed much in his features, but it was apparent the last five years had worn him considerably. Part of it must have been the septicemia. Briony's current ward at St. Thomas's had several soldiers recovering and had seen many more die from wounds that poisoned the blood. They were a group of men who never seemed to get enough sleep and seemed to pay for one good day with an awful one. She noticed Robbie's solicitor talking with the usher, pointing towards him and gesturing. The nurse that accompanied him strode to them. Briony realized that Robbie was likely still very ill from his infection.

A pang of guilt gnawed at her conscience. This whole event was all her fault, but there were circumstances far beyond her control that were making this situation so much the worse. She hadn't anticipated that the case would be reopened at all. Leon pointed out that new evidence was needed for Robbie's conviction to be appealed, and her change of testimony wasn't enough. Several days after she had submitted her statement, she had received her summons to appear in person to give her statement in the crown court, which somehow was in just a few weeks' time. Robbie's last trial had taken months to be seen by a judge and jury.

On top of it all, there was the war. Where in Briony's wildest dreams did she ever think Robbie would be injured and recovering when she finally made amends? The darkest of all these thoughts skimmed to surface.  _He could have died at Dunkirk. Then no one would ever have known or cared about the truth._

She was pulled out of her reverie by her father, who tugged her into the courtroom. In the witness dock sat her mother, whose brimmed hat shielded wincing eyes from the interior lighting of the courtroom. Briony braced herself for a strained conversation about frayed nerves and migraines, but instead Emily merely acknowledged her with a small nod and patted her knee when she sat. Briony tried not to bristle at the familiar touch but found herself stiffen anyway.

She panned the courtroom in search of other familiar faces. Aunt Hermione was there, sitting next to Lola, who sat closely to Paul Marshall. Uncle Cecil, unsurprisingly, was not in attendance.

The court began with its usual proceedings. The account of the previous trial and its verdict were read. Robbie rose from the prisoner's dock and gave a brief statement, affirming that he would not be amending his previous version of events.

Behind her she heard a woman stage whisper, "He looks terrible."

"I heard he nearly died," her companion answered. "Frightfully romantic story, though. I heard the Tallis's daughter recognized him while she was working on the ward."

"Funny to think we all turned up our nose at the thought of an upper class girl going into nursing. Now that's the vogue thing for these young girls to do."

"That's because of the war. I heard they cut her off. What choice did the girl have?"

Sandwiched between them, Briony did not dare look to see the reaction her mother or her father had at these accusations. Her head swam as she considered how many people had accepted her word as true all those years ago. The court proceedings began and she barely followed what was being said until she was aware of Jack poking her in the ribs.

Nervously, she took the stand and was questioned by each barrister. The script she had thought of earlier that morning was out the window and internally she writhed at the thought of giving such an impassioned speech in front of such a large audience. There had been a time when she craved such a thing.

Finally, the barrister representing Robbie got around to his final questions.

"Would you say, Miss Tallis, that intercepting a lewd letter from Private Turner intended for your sister was what convinced you that he was guilty of assaulting your cousin?"

Briony's cheeks flushed crimson, having worried about this detail far in advance. She was surprised how easy it was to answer. "I can't deny that Private Turner sent my sister a lewd letter. Nor do I deny that it was rude and intrusive to me to stick my nose where it didn't belong. My reaction to the letter was namely, that I was jealous of Robbie's affection for my sister."

"Robbie?"

"Pardon – Private Turner."

"And you now believe that letter showed genuine affection, despite its lurid content? Is that your interpretation, now that you are, as you say, an adult?"

"I believe the only two people able to accurately answer that are my sister and Private Turner, whose private affection for one another should have never been an object of discussion in any court of law. I only know I had no right to take that letter and morph it into a confession of sexual mania." Briony's voice shook as she finished, her anger at herself getting the better of her. "I also would like to add that, if I had been cross-examined in this fashion at the age of thirteen, we would not be here today. Anyone with an ounce of logic would have realized the holes in the tale I told."

She was excused from the stand not longer after that, though she could hardly remember what else she had said. She took her seat between Jack and Emily, neither of whom would look her in the eye. She looked ahead in the courtroom as the magistrates and judge discussed procedure with the barristers. Her gaze landed on Robbie, who she realized with some surprise was staring back at her. They held each other's looks for a moment. She hoped she looked defeated and repentant. She had done all she could and knew it still wasn't enough. His eyes were fevered – she could tell across the room, though his pale and clammy skin only confirmed her diagnosis – but defiant. Coolly, he broke the stare and re-oriented himself to the witness stand.

There was more debating between the barristers , with some follow up from each side's solicitor. Briony could hardly listen over the sick feeling pitting in the bottom of her stomach. At this point, the jury might have no choice than to uphold the previous trial's conviction.

Robbie then took the stand. He approached the stand slowly and leaned heavily on a cane. Briony could see his forehead shiny with sweat. She could tell by the way his eyes twitched that he was trying to conceal whatever pain ailed him. He took his oath and barrister began asking his questions.

"We are here to discuss another incident of the night you were accused of assault, but not the one for which you served a sentence. The evening began with the nephews of the Tallises running off. You were the one who found them and returned them to the house. Do you remember where you found the Quincey twins, Jackson and Pierrot, that night?"

* * *

Robbie paused before answering. His head had been swimming since he stepped foot in the car that brought him here to this spot. What was the point of surviving Dunkirk if a hot June night five years ago was going to haunt him the rest of his life?

His mind raced back those five years to the moonless morning hours that he had spent, torchless, combing through the obvious places to hide at the park, and finally followed the small footpath that went past the cow pen. He knew exactly where he had found the two of them, huddled for comfort at the base of a willow tree. "About a mile and a half south of the house, in a willow tree right off the foot path that links the cottages of the farmers adjacent to the Tallis property." His mind swam as he tried to imagine why they were asking them this now. They hadn't bothered to question the twins at the time, and five years between eight and thirteen was a world of difference in memory between the thirteen and eighteen. Briony could at least draw from adult conclusions recently formed. What hope did the twins have?

He tried to swallow and found that he couldn't. He felt he was being analyzed the way he had been in Wandsworth, self-important psychiatrists scribbling notes and trying out hypothesis after hypothesis to account for his alleged misdeeds. He had nowhere to hide.

If he noticed, the barrister said nothing. "And what way did you leave the main house that night, when you went to find the boys?"

"Towards the cow pasture. East initially, then south when I didn't find them."

"And you brought no torch, no light whatsoever?"

Oh, and how to explain this one? They were looking for guilt, and a crafty man who preyed upon young girls was not in need of light on a moonless night. This much had been made clear in the courtroom five years prior. "I grew up there. I knew my way around best, and I knew the boys would run if they saw lights chasing them. Besides, there weren't enough torches for all of us to have one."

"No torch, so walking back was a chore?"

He remembered that night and coming back, the stop and go of two fifty-pound bodies whining and refusing to move another inch until he finally compromised by putting one on his shoulders and supporting the other one as they walked. He had to stop and rest three times, alternating each boy to make it fair. It had been a hot day and the night was no relief, especially in his best suit. He knew he had soiled it by the time he had found the twins. Of course it had been a chore! There was no one else better suited to do it. "They were so heavy. It was so hot." He could feel the fever reignite inside him, though what did it matter? They didn't believe him then and he wouldn't believe him now. He was going to be put back in that place and he was going to go under. That much was certain. He gripped the railing in front of him for support.

The barrister frowned at the man in front of him who appeared to writhe in pain and looked flushed. "Private Turner, I know you are recovering from a recent battle injury. Please permit me just one more question. Do you remember the time that you found the twins?"

He had thrashed around for hours and had long stopped hearing the voices calling from the house. He had nearly given up, cursing his stupid idea about the footpath and figuring the twins had long since been returned to the house. Then, he caught an unnatural shape poking out from beneath the apple tree ahead. A small foot poked out from the hedge. He raced to them and saw them there, motionless. His heart had stopped momentarily, but then he realized they were only sleeping. "Two. Two in the morning."

"And it took you two hours to walk back?"

"Two hours. Had to cross the creek one by one. Had to rest. They were heavy lads."

"And you took no breaks."

"None."

"Thank you, Private Turner. That will be all."

* * *

The crowd murmured as a uniformed nurse rushed to Robbie's side, gently leading him back to the prisoner's dock. The judge called for order as another barrister provided the testimony recently submitted on behalf of Jackson and Pierrot. Briony was pleased to realize that the order of the testimony corroborated with each piece of this puzzle. Her own amended statement to a solicitor pre-dated the new testimony given by the twins; the two stories did not conflict with one another. Robbie giving his statement about finding the twins prior to the court hearing the twins' version of the same event ensured that the judge and jury could be assured that the verdict of the last trial had missed some crucial information.

They were now debating the testimony provided by the twins. "This trial has already been tainted by the false testimony of a thirteen-year-old. Why add two more to the equation, and account for the fact that five years have passed since the event in question? While the statement provided from the Quincey twins provides additional affirmation that the accused was otherwise occupied in retrieving two sleepy eight-year-olds from a cow pasture, it does not confirm the timeline of events in any way."

Briony's stomach was in knots. She couldn't see any good way out of this. She had admitted she had lied before; for all they knew she could be lying again and seemed to be making a good case of it. In Briony's mind, the only way for Robbie to be declared innocent in all of this was for Lola to confirm her brothers' statement.

Finally Lola had been called to give her statement. Like Briony, she had not been required to appear in person in 1935.

Aunt Hermione was known for her histrionics, and Lola had learned well from her mother's example. Big, shiny tears rolled down her cheeks as she answered the questions from both barristers establishing her recollection of the situation. Yes, she recognized the man in the prisoner's dock as the man accused of raping her. Lola's chest heaved as she sobbed into a handkerchief. Briony braced as she saw the reporters from the papers scribble madly onto notepads, inwardly wincing at how badly this could all go.

Unsurprisingly, Lola denied everything her brothers said. They were lying little brutes and still were, she testified. She had no idea why they would make up such a disgusting story about her husband. Lola's perfectly coiffed red curls bobbed in unison as she continued her testimony.

"So you deny your brothers' account of the events leading up to your assault?" the prosecution barrister asked.

"I do," Lola simpered, her eyes red but her make-up still perfect.

"And you affirm your statement made by proxy in November 1935?"

"Yes," she affirmed, collecting herself and sitting upright.

It was the defense barrister's turn to question Lola. Briony sunk into her chair, flanked on either side by the stony faces of her parents, both of whom had hardly seemed to move a muscle throughout the trial. It wasn't going to be enough to recount her evidence. They would need to implicate Marshall, and Lola was too smart to do that.

"I want to revisit the statement you made for the trial in November 1935. I understand how upsetting and unpleasant it must be to revisit such a time in your life, but please understand that evidence has been presented suggesting an honest man was wrongly accused of assaulting you. The evidence was enough to re-open this case by jury trial, and for that reason alone we must ensure that the court's ultimate decision is the correct one. Now, my first question for you, Mrs. Marshall, is this: the only thing you could say definitely about your attacker was that it was a male, correct."

"Yes," Lola responded, her tone of voice audibly annoyed.

"And that you thought you were only as tall as the middle of his chest, which would mean the man was about 6 feet in height. Is that correct?"

"Ye-es," Lola said tentatively. "I think so."

"Let me read your assessment again so you can be sure." The barrister turned to the jury and read loudly from a paper in front of him: "From Mrs. Marshall's statement in 1935: ' _It was a man. He hugged me to his chest. I think I wasn't quite as tall as his chin.'_ An assessment of the courts found that this would indicate the man was at least six feet tall, which corroborated with Private Turner's height."

"Yes, that's right," Lola affirmed, straightening up.

"Additionally, while you stated that while the man told you to be quiet or else he'd hurt you, you could not say for certain who it was. Is that correct?"

Lola's face steeled and she did not move or respond. The entire court was silent as they waited a response.

"Mrs. Marshall? Do you need me to repeat the question?"

"I didn't know Private Turner until that day and wouldn't have recognized his voice, so it must have been him," Lola reasoned out loud.

The barrister nodded patiently. "While we may consider that fact, that is not what I asked you. I am merely trying to affirm your previous statement, which you have alleged to be true just a few minutes prior by Barrister Barnes. Now, please confirm your statement made in November 1935: while you heard the man's voice, you could not say for certain who it was. Is that correct?"

"I  _won't_ implicate my husband!" Lola burst out as the observers in the court began to murmur. "You cannot prove it!"

The defense barrister replied calmly. "Mrs. Marshall, we are not talking about your husband at the moment. We are discussing your attacker, whom you have previously stated was a man, who was believed to be about six feet in height, whose voice you did not recognize. I am only asking you to affirm those facts. Remember that you have taken an oath to tell the entire truth."

Lola's solicitor raced to the stand to approach the judge. "I raise an objection; Mrs. Marshall has already answered the barrister's question, as it was already asked."

The judge spoke for the first time since the start of the case. "Then she should not object to answering the question a second time."

"The first barrister did not provide my client with the details of her previous statement!" the solicitor cried, suddenly looking desperate.

The mood changed in the courtroom. The feeling of dread still swam in the pit of Briony's stomach, but the rest of the participants were starting to realize there was more to this story than they previously thought. The chatter became audible, so much so that the usher had to loudly remind the observers of the solemnity of the space.

"The barrister asked your client a simple question that she quickly affirmed. Next, the barrister merely asked your client to affirm the details of that statement. There ought to be no difference in her response should her statement be true."

The judge nodded to the defense barrister, who asked Lola for the third time. "Mrs. Marshall, do you affirm your statement by proxy in November 1935: that your attacker was a man, who was believed to be about six feet in height, whose voice you did not recognize."

"Yes, I affirm that statement," Lola said. An edge had crept into her voice. Briony sat up in her chair and leaned forward, scarcely believing what she was hearing.

"Returning to a statement you previously made about the man: you stated that you would not have recognized Private Turner's voice because you had only met him that day. Is that correct?"

"Yes, that's correct." Now Lola seemed to perk up, her earlier concerns verified. Briony perked up, too: her cousin had just walked into a trap.

"I understand you and your husband are recently married."

"Yes, just three weeks," Lola beamed.

"May I offer my congratulations," the barrister said blithely. "When was it did you first meet your husband?"

"The…the same day," Lola faltered.

"I object!" Lola's solicitor cried out again, from his place in the crowd.

"My point in mentioning this fact," the barrister droned, not pausing to address the interruption and raising his voice to rise above the sudden murmur of the crowd behind him, "Is that Mrs. Marshall had become acquainted with multiple people that day in June 1935. She is unable to confirm that it was Mr. Turner who assaulted her, merely by voice recognition."

The courtroom had fallen silent in anticipation of what could follow such a statement.

"We have heard today from four voices that previously were unable to speak for themselves five years ago. One has clarified her evidence, claiming that she was in part heavily influenced by others and an overactive imagination to make the accusation that she did. Two others have provided more details of the night that match Miss Tallis's amended account. We have evidence that neither Miss Tallis nor the two Master Quinceys have been in contact with one another since the incident; this is true as well for Miss Tallis and Mrs. Marshall, whose own certain recollection of the facts do not implicate Private Turner in any way. What the prosecution can say, definitively, is that we no longer have a case against Private Turner. I have no further questions."

Again, the courtroom burst into sound as the barrister returned to his table and Lola was excused from the stand. She looked stunned as she sat next to her husband, who was busy talking to his solicitor in an agitated manner. Briony whipped her head around to see Robbie's reaction to all of this, but to her great surprise he was no longer in the prisoner's dock. She turned again to the judge, who was listening intently to Robbie's solicitor and nodding gravely. The solicitor left and the sergeant-at-mace banged his gavel until the din died down.

"We will now let the jury convene to discuss the new evidence and the testimony provided this afternoon." The judge now turned to the jury. "If you have the slightest doubt, it is your duty to acquit the accused. Of course, as was discussed earlier, Private Turner has already been convicted and served a sentence for this crime. He cannot be charged again for the same crime, but should you find him not guilty, his record will be cleared.

You are the judges. The outcome of this trail is not dependent on me. We will now leave you to consider your verdict elsewhere."

"Silence!" the sergeant-of-mace cried. The court usher took his oath and led the jury to nearby room, where they were locked in. The court dispersed, leaving the room with an energetic public who filled the air with gossip and speculation. Briony's heart leapt into her throat as Paul Marshall rose from the other side of the room, a steely glare in his eyes, but he was prevented from coming closer by his solicitor. Lola, who until now had been acting every inch the grown-up married woman, sulked in her chair beside her husband, her legs crossed and her chin resting in her reclining arm, her face in a pout.

"I don't suppose they'll be very long," Emily remarked drily.

"I don't see how they could," Jack replied.

Briony remained between them and said nothing. To her knowledge, it was the first time that day her parents had acknowledged each other.

* * *

The jury took ten minutes to decide upon a verdict.

Briony's heart pounded as the sergeant-of-mace droned through the dozen names of the men and women of the jury. He then asked, "Members of the jury, are you agreed upon your verdict?"

"We are," replied a juror.

"And do you find the prisoner guilty or not guilty of assault, based on the evidence given here today?"

"Not guilty," came the curt reply.

At once the court erupted into talk. "Silence!" shouted the sergeant-at-arms.

"Then let the prisoner…" the sergeant-at-mace faltered as he searched for the correct terminology.

"Let the prisoner be discharged," the judge filled in. "From this day forward, Robert Turner is hereby not guilty in the assault of Lola Quincey. His legal record in this matter shall be expunged. Private Turner has not only served the sentence for this crime, he has risked his own life in service to his country as repayment for a debt he never owed. While the courts in our kingdom are ordered so as to deliver a fair trial and swift justice, information was withheld to a previous journey that would have forever altered the course of this man's life. Presumed innocent, we hope Private Turner can return again to his old life."

Turning to Lola, the judge continued. "It pains me to leave you with this decision, but our court of law was not set up to provide resolution to all crimes. Based on evidence, we can only prove one way or the other the innocence of the accused. I am afraid, that unless other evidence is provided, we cannot name or prosecute the man who attacked you that night. By all accounts, the court has mistakenly accused the wrong man of the crime. It seems that the true perpetrator of the crime done to you has taken advantage of this error. I'm sorry to report that as the evidence stands, we may not be able to name your accuser. The court is adjourned."

With that the jurors, solicitors, barristers, and judge quickly dispersed and the room again filled with noise.

Beside her, Emily's fingers went immediately to her temples, massaging around her eyes in a manner that caused Briony to feel nervous. Years of her mother's status as an invalid had caused her to feel anxious when she sense the warning sign of a migraine.

"You'll come home for your next holiday, dear?" Emily asked, not daring to look up, lest the overhead lights pain her.

"Whenever that is," Briony guessed. She did not have a clue what her future at the clinic looked like. Here was another day gone from training and instruction. She knew she would not have it in her to make up for the studying late into the night.

"Come Emily, Briony," said Jack curtly, gathering his coat. "Let's be off. I fear our presence will be fodder for the papers if we linger."

As they made their way out, Briony strained to hear the voices around her.

"Poor chap, he was white as a ghost by the time he got back to the dock."

"Can you imagine? Three years in Wandsworth only to get shot at in France so you can come back to the world wondering if you're innocent or not. I don't think I'd have it in me."

"Still leaves more questions than answers. Did I tell you about that story the  _Horizon_  received a few months ago? Clara was telling me about it. Couldn't publish it, because it was  _clearly_  about the elder Tallis daughter and this Turner fellow and they were worried about legal action from Marshall. Piqued my interest, I'll tell you…"

Briony whipped around and strained to see who had said that. But she couldn't as Jack gently pushed her towards the exit. The relief that washed over her after the jury read their verdict was replaced by her embarrassment.

In the reply she had received after sending along  _Two Figures by a Fountain_ , someone from the Horizon office had asked whether she had a sister who attended Girton.

She hadn't used their names, but they knew it was about Robbie and Cecilia. And now all of London knew.

What a fool she'd been.

* * *

It was late when Jack Tallis arrived at the soldier's convalescent home. He had returned Briony to St. Thomas's and endured a dinner with his wife where he gave curt replies to her many inquiries. Despite it being after posted visiting hours, Jack ad learned enough in the past few weeks to mention his civil servant status at Whitehall to gain access to hospital patients. Or rather, a particular patient.

The nurse in charge that evening was reluctant to disturb Robbie all the same. "Our Matron gave strict instructions not to worry or stress him," she warned. "We almost had to send him back to the hospital, it was that bad a relapse."

There was a lump in Jack's throat that puzzled him. It had not been there since his brother Clem had died in the Great War over thirty years ago. There had been such a likeness between Robbie and Clem that he found difficult to explain to his wife or even his son. That passion for knowledge and the gift of being intelligent as well as strong and able-bodied. That joie de vivre. To think that the best years of Robbie's life had been wasted away in a prison.

To think that Robbie could be dead on the shores of Dunkirk…

Jack pushed the thought out of his mind. Robbie was still here, in front of him. He was alive. He slept and Jack was relieved to see the breaths were even, even though Robbie's face seemed etched in discomfort. His eyes seemed sunken and his cheeks were hollow, making him look gaunt.

"I'll just leave this here," Jack said, his voice thick. He pulled a large envelope from his jacket and put it at his bedside. "It's the legal documents recording his innocence. He'll need them when he returns to Aldershot."

There was more in the envelope. A letter with Jack's profoundest apologies and an offer for a living stipend. Robbie's name may have been cleared but Jack knew it came at a cost. A jury may have found him innocent, but it was going to be a difficult task to explain to a public whose long memory included an inability to forget. It was going to be hard for a man with Robbie's background, education, and legal trouble to find a suitable job. After all – hadn't Jack offered to pay for Robbie's medical school in full? This wasn't much different, he thought.

On his way out the door, he stopped and looked at the man in the bed again. "Be well, my son," he murmured. It was more benediction than any of his biological children had ever received from their father.

* * *

Note: Everything I ever learned about the British court system in the 1940s came from an educational video on YouTube called "Courts Of Law : English Criminal Justice - 1946 Educational Film."


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